


Of "Love" & Murder

by asoftervirge



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alcohol, Anxiety, Arsenic Posioning, Backstory, Baking, Character Death, Chocolate, Choking, Corpses, Cunnilingus, Cyanide poisoning, Dancing and Singing, Deception, Drinking, Drowning, Dubious Morality, Eating, Faked Suicide, False Identity, Fear of Death, Flirting, Food, Ghosts, Graphic Description, Guns, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Guns, Implied/Referenced Murder, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Kissing, Lingerie, Logan is a nerd, M/M, Mentions of poisoning, Mild Smut, Morally Grey Morality | Patton Sanders, Morally Neutral Deceit Sanders, Murder, Murder Mystery, Musical References, Mystery, Poisoning, Puns & Word Play, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sassy, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual innuendos, Shameless Smut, Singing, Smut, Snark, Supernatural Elements, Swearing, Threats of Violence, Touching, Vaginal Fingering, Vomit, arsenic - Freeform, cyanide - Freeform, mentions of Remus Sanders, mentions of bullying, mentions of social anxiety, mentions of transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2020-12-24 09:48:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 46,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21097469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asoftervirge/pseuds/asoftervirge
Summary: Patton Hart is a golden-hearted confectioner. His chocolate and candy shop, Patty's Sweet Confectionaries, has brought in millions of customers. One of those customers is Virgil Nyx, a former bookstore clerk turned wealthy widower. Patton becomes smitten with the cunning and ambitious man and Virgil the same, but not for the reason you think. One day, Patton gets a special request from Virgil and is asked to deliver chocolates to his mansion. Happily, he accepts and starts delivering chocolates everyday. Slowly, things progress between the two.During his visits, Patton notices a couple things: certain doors that are bolted shut, and three portraits of men whose faces were covered. Confused, Patton starts to investigate and discovers that they were Virgil's previous husbands who mysteriously died and left him most of their inheritance. Their names? Roman Scarlet, a famed thespian. Logan Oxford, an esteemed novelist. Dorian Cain, a shady lawyer. All of them warn Patton of their once-lover's tricks, how Virgil seduced them and then murdered them in various ways, all the while collecting the fortunes they left him. And the police haven't suspected a thing.Inspiration: phantomofthesanderssides (Tumblr)





	1. Life is Like A Box of Chocolates…Patton Never Knew What He Was Gonna Get When He Met Virgil Nyx

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dark, brooding figure walks into Patton's Sweet Confectionaries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy (Early) Halloween, everyone!
> 
> I’m very excited to show everyone this fic I’ve been working hard at all summer and going into the fall. I did a Halloween fic last year and I figured I would keep up the tradition of that. :) This fic was inspired by a post made by phantomofthesanderssides on Tumblr and the title was taking from the Broadway musical _A Gentleman’s Guide to Love and Murder_.
> 
> A chapter will be posted every day until Halloween, hence as to why there’s 13 of them. lol They’ll all be posted around the same time so it's recommended that you subscribe to this fic so you can be notified on when chapters are posted. Like with any other darkly-themed fic, **please heed the warnings at the top!** With that said, please enjoy!

Ever since he was a child, Patton loved baking.

He remembers being in the kitchen with his grandmother as she baked a variety of different desserts and baked treats that filled the air with love and comfort. He would tug at her frilly yellow apron, which was sticky with dough and syrups, begging her to let them bake together.

With a warm, wrinkled smile and kind eyes, she would laugh a bubbly laugh and allow him to do so. Setting him atop the counter, she would tell him the same stories she’d told him many times before: about how she learned after marrying his grandfather, how she taught it to Patton’s parents at various points in their lives, and what specific ones were her favorites and what exactly they meant to her.

As she told him these stories, Patton would swing his legs back and forth, bouncing in excitement, and baby blue eyes twinkling, eager to help out in any way he could. From whisking batter to sifting flour and sugar, and from setting cupcake tins to decorating with various goodies, Patton was always considered his grandmother’s “Little Helper.”

Cakes and pies, muffins and cupcakes, brownies and fudge, everything she made was special to him as much as it was to her. This tradition continued even as

Patton grew older, all the way up until his grandmother passed away when he was a freshman in high school.

Her death caused Patton to take a break from baking. It only reminded him of her. However, he eventually picked it up again, realizing that she would continue to live on in her recipes and all the goodies he made.

Baking slowly became both his constant and his coping mechanism. Whatever emotion he felt: happiness, sadness, excitement, or stress, Patton would bake. And afterwards, he would eat those treats in order to truly feel better. Taking gooeyness, riches, and sugariness always put a smile on his face. And he would do it again and again each time.

Yes, his emotion-driven baking and eating lad him to gaining a bit of extra weight, resulting in bullying for his slightly pudgy belly and chubby cheeks, but Patton didn’t seem to care. His grandmother’s baking brought him immense joy and nostalgia; and that was enough for him.

Which is why, after he graduated from university, he decided to open a confectionery store: _Patty’s Sweet Confectioneries_, much to the delight of everyone around him.

If his loved ones were charmed by what he made, then a much wider audience would be as well.

Sure enough, they were.

Almost immediately, crowds of people flocked to his shop, yearning to consume and buy whatever was still in stock (as Patton tended to sell out very quickly).

While certain recipes sold remarkably well: rich milk chocolate chip cookies, coffee cake with cinnamon crumble and vanilla glaze, gooey fudge brownies and blondies, tart lemon bars that made one’s lips pucker, ginger spice cake that reminded one of Christmas; there was one thing that struck the hearts of all his customers: Patton’s decadent chocolates and sugary assorted candies.

He didn’t know if what that he made them in front of his customers (much to the joy and awe of children), or how he relished in the praises and compliments from all, Patton adored making confectioneries for the people to enjoy.

Some candies include: peanut brittle that made a loud crunch when bitten into, giant fluffy cubes of marshmallows, meringues that felt and tasted like clouds, a rainbow of flavorful taffies, salty caramels and toffees, and finally, to the odd satisfaction of some, gummy jellies and Turkish Delights (ones that even Mr. Tumnus would be proud of). The chocolates included round, melt-in-your-mouth truffles, clusters filled with various peanuts and tree nuts, and hand-dipped fresh fruits and berries.

Eventually, critics and even celebrities grew to love the small yet larger-than-life sweets shop.

With all of the attention and customers Patton had been getting, he was suddenly making millions of dollars, more than he knew what to do with. It was enough money to expand his business and spread it to other parts of the world; but he didn’t. He thoroughly enjoyed it being tiny and quaint, and felt content in the little town he’d grown accustomed to. And, after other moments of deliberation, he decided to give most of his earning to various charities, animal shelters, and local orphanages/children’s hospitals.

This helped the confectioner gain a bit of a reputation of being gold-hearted; and one celebrity in particular decided to cash in on that pure naïveté. 

* * *

He walked into the confectionery shop, the little bell above the door jingling as he opened the door. Once inside, his eyes looked around and mentally declared it to be that of Roald Dahl’s Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (without any Oompa Loompas parading around that is).

It looked almost golden with how the chandelier glowed from the cream-colored ceiling. Dark brown and white tile checkered the flooring. Wooden stands and tables were decorated with white, lacy table runners and each one were topped with dishes and bowls filled with the shops’ specialties. Little white signs rested near each one, tempting all by saying in bold letters ‘Eat me!’ like in Lewis Carroll’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.

The man’s eyes continued wandering. He saw young couples sampling each other chocolates (with lovey-dovey heart eyes that made him want to gag), elderly people looking for gifts for either their spouses or grandchildren, and sous-chefs scuttling about to refill samples and other assigned duties.

Overall, the atmosphere of this place had a child-like wonder to it.

Suddenly, his gaze honed in on something in particular, finally finding who he was looking for.

Behind the counter was a man; a man who looked just a tad bit younger and innocent than what the papers had stated. Their hair was curly in nature and strawberry blonde in color, and rounded glasses were resting on their nose. He was wearing a thick and baggy sweater that was light blue, the sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, and a frilly white apron was tied around his neck.

Childlike, wholesome, popular, and wealthy— albeit, unfortunately, charitable. Despite the one huge flaw, there was no doubt this guy would be a perfect match for him.

With a smirk dancing on his face, he strides over to the counter. Upon getting a closer look, he noticed the smaller details the man possessed. Freckles dotting their cheeks, their clothing— even his face and hair— were decorated with various stains: flours and sugars, eggs, molasses and syrups, frostings, and chocolates.

He truly seemed like a person that would own a confectionery shop, but to be extremely wealthy as a result of it? He found that a little hard to believe, but that wasn’t something he was concerned with at the moment.

“Excuse me?” he called out, taking notice of the man making chocolates for a group of eager children. Their little faces and hands were pressed against the glass, no doubt leaving fingerprints and nose smudges.

Patton’s head moves upward as he hears the low, deep voice addressing him. His heart skips a beat and he nearly drops the chocolate-filled bowl as he discovers who the voice belonged to.

The man in question looked mysterious yet oh so handsome. The first thing he noticed was his eyes; how they were a shocking shade of silvery-grey like darkening storm clouds. Next was the faded violet hair that allowed him to see the black roots underneath, making an unintentional yet fascinating ombre. Another thing he took notice of was his makeup; dark black eyeshadow with a hint of purple and the same lipstick to match; and silver decorated in his ears in terms of jewelry.

He then took note of how slim his body was, but he wasn’t too skinny or anything of that assumption. His turtleneck was a regal purple— darker than his hair— fitting snugly against his body; a black trench coat lay over top it, accentuating some of the muscles in his arms; from what he would see behind the counter (there are children around, Patton!), a dark brown belt was separating his turtleneck from the form-fitting leather pants that emphasized his thighs and—

“Uhm, hello?” The voice called out again, this time, with a twinge of amusement.

“O-Oh!” Patton exclaimed with an embarrassing blush. “M-My apologies, sir!” He finishes filling the molds with chocolate before setting the bowl down, wiping his hands clean on his apron. “H-How can I help you today? A-Are you interested in any of our free samples?”

At first, the mysterious man didn’t say anything, eyes were cast down at the display to the left of him, presenting cakes and cupcakes and other similar desserts.

Then he said, “I was wondering if you do personalized orders for people?”

“I can do gift boxes with custom messages on them if that’s what you mean,” Patton points to a sand that is decorated in many different-sized boxes and colored ribbons. “If so, I’d be more than happy to place an order for you!”

“That’ll be fine.”

“Great!” Patton runs and grabs a notepad and pencil, ready to take down the requested order. “First, what size box did you want? Our small fits six piece while our largest fits thirty-two.”

“Hmm…Thirty-two.”

Patton writes that down. “And what colored ribbon? Violet?”

A chuckle. “How’d you guess? Did I make it too obvious?”

“No, not really. I just think it looks great on you.” A pause, then a stammer. “I-I mean—”

“Well then,” another chuckle. “If that’s how you feel, I’ll be more than happy to wear the color more for you the next time I visit, okay?” He winked at the confectioner, causing him to blush even harder.

“R-Right!” Patton exclaims, not really looking at him. “U-Uhm…Wh-When did you want to come pick it up?”

The man frowned in disappointment. “Can’t you come and deliver it personally? It would be a shame if you didn’t.” He grabbed the collar of his turtleneck, tugging it in an almost anxious manner (and allowing Patton to get a small glimpse of his pale neck). “Plus…my anxiety can be really bad some days…” His eyes darted around the shop, his other hand wrapped it self around his waist, almost as if he were hugging and tucking himself away from the presence of others.

Patton immediately felt awful for him. “Aww, of course I can make an exception for you!” he exclaims, nodding sincerely. “Just tell me the address and I’ll be over within the next day or so!”

After hearing this, the man stood up straighter, smirking internally. This guy was just too damn gullible, the thought to himself. “I really appreciate that, thanks.”

“It’s no problem, Mr…?”

“Nyx.” The man says, discreetly eyeing Patton up and down like he was visualizing something enticing— and in a way, he was. He then looks over at the corner of his eye and sees a small sample dish of dark chocolate truffles. He casually picks one up and pops it in his mouth, drawing out a man as the rich taste of bitter dark chocolate coats his tongue. “Virgil Nyx.”

Patton blush at the man— _Virgil’s_— reaction to his creation. He suppose he’s had better, and worse, reactions from customers before. “I-I hope to see you again soon, Mr. Nyx. V-Virgil.”

“As do I, Patton…?”

“Hart. Patton Hart.”

Virgil nods. How ironic for this man to have a name like that. “May we meet again under such sweet circumstances, Mr. Patton Hart.”

“I-I hope so too!”

Now, Virgil smirks, his sliver eyes glazing over with a hidden intention that was very unreadable.

“Oh, by the way. You have a little—” He leans over the counter, focusing on a particular spot on the confectioner’s face. With a slim finger, Virgil wipes away a smear of something off the corner of his lip. Keeping his gaze on Patton, he puts the finger in his mouth, smirking wider at what the flavor was. “Mmm…espresso…my favorite.” he hums out.

Patton could’ve sworn his heart stopped at the boldness of the mysterious man in front of him.

“Anyway. Have a good night, Mr. Hart.”

“Y-You too!” Then he realized something. “W-Wait!”

Virgil turns around.

“What’s your address? So I can deliver the chocolates to you.”

“Ah. My bad.” He comes back and writes his address on the notepad that Patton had out. “Here you are. And thanks for accepting my request.”

“Th-Thank you! And you’re welcome!” He waved bye as Virgil exited the shop, the bell jingling once more as the door opened and closed.

Even after he left, Patton still stared at the door a moment longer, the world around him having stopped. Butterflies formed in his stomach, so much so that he could practically feel them flying all around his body.

It was love at first sight for the poor, foolish confectioner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys enjoyed this chapter, please leave a comment and/or kudos! And if you wish to read this on Tumblr instead, my username is @asoftervirge!
> 
> **Tomorrow:** Patton gives Virgil the chocolates.


	2. Love (Unrequited or Not) Is Sweeter Than All the Candies Patton Could Make

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patton delivers Virgil’s chocolates and gets a special treat in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize if the first two chapters seem a bit boring, but I promise, the third one is where all the good stuff starts to happen, so hopefully things'll get better there! :)

Patton felt gay panic overwhelming him to the point that he may faint.

He spent countless hours after he closed up shop, making batches after batches of chocolates, trying to create the perfect array of thirty-two that would satisfy Virgil.

_Virgil Nyx._ The name sounded so…unique in his mind’s eye. It was different, but Patton liked that it was different. Yet there was also something…_dark and strange_ about it; something that should make the confectioner fearful, but he wasn’t. It seemed cliché and he knew it, but he had become drawn to him from the moment they met.

He looked over the batches that he already made, all cooling on various racks and baking sheets: squares and other various shapes of chocolate, barks and clusters, truffles and cordials; and all of them made with dark chocolate. He didn’t know if Virgil really liked things incredibly bitter (although the moan he let out suggested otherwise), so he put some bittersweet in there to counterbalance it. As a bonus, he even put in a bit of espresso powder because Virgil stated it was his favorite.

When he believed he had a perfect set, he began to decorate them. Glazes, icings and sugars all scattered about in the air, dusting his face, hair, and fingers.

Then, when everything was done up all nice and pretty— like a box of chocolates should be— Patton placed them in the gift box. Most of the ones he sent out were either golden or white, but he also had some of varying colors. For Virgil, he managed to find a black one that was perfect. He places the chocolates in their respective places in the tin before closing the lid. Finally, he pulled out a collection of ribbons that are used for the finishing touches. He looks through the assortment of rainbow spools before pulling out a dark violet one. He cut a large length of it before wrapping it around the box and tying it in a bow.

Patton leaned back and observed his craftsmanship with a grin.

Virgil was going to love this, he knows he will!

* * *

It was a cold, foggy Sunday night as Patton drove to Virgil’s house. The box of chocolates were nestled comfortably in a cooler sitting in the passenger seat of his car. A gentle downpour of rain pitter-pattered against the glass, becoming a soothing presence amidst the silence.

Neon signs for bars and hotspots light up the cloudy sky; the occasional persons walking about; homeless slouched on curbs with paper bags in hand; and stray cats appearing from alleyways all flew past him along the way, showing him a darker, grittier version of his city.

Slowly, the city transformed into a giant forest that surrounded his car. The air grew colder and the rain came down harder. The smooth asphalt roads turned to bumpy gravel, causing Patton to bounce as he drove. After a few miles, the forest disappeared and the confectioner was greeted with a sight that truly astounded him.

The manor looked to be inspired by either the Victorian or Queen Anne style of architecture. It was at least two or three stories high with incredibly gorgeous details to it: complex rooflines, a tower in the left corner with a steep roof, gables and bays, a richly textured surface of patterned shingles, and applied ornamentations. For Patton, the most notable features were the single-story wrap-around porch, the black balustrades, the lavishly decorated spindle work, and Eastlake ornamentations.

Patton looked up at the manor, then down at the piece of paper he pulled out of his pocket, staring at the address written on it.

_613 Rue Morgue._

It— It _was _the right address, judging by the silver numbers beside the door, yet Patton couldn’t believe someone like Virgil would live here!

He unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the cooler to grab the chocolates, the box feeling cold under his fingertips. Laying the box on his lap, he reaches over and retrieves his umbrella from the driver’s side pocket— a pastel blue one with white polka dots— before exiting the car. He walks up the wooden porch steps and rang the doorbell (knocking to the tune of ‘shave and a haircut’ for good measure) before standing back and waiting.

Exactly thirteen minutes later, Patton stood up straighter when the door finally opened. He nearly dropped the box when he saw Virgil’s appearance.

The stormy grey eyes and faded purple fringe looked the same, but it was his clothing that changed. Instead of a purple turtleneck, it was a button-up (with the top buttons and cuffs undone), and his leather pants were that of fancy dress ones. His boots were gone and he was padding around in thick, black wooly socks.

“Patton,” His deep, low voice snapped him out of his gay lovestruck moment. “As fond— and slightly disturbed— as I am by your flattering— and totally not creepy— fawning over me…I would like to eat personalized chocolates and get to know my deliveryman.”

Said deliveryman squeaked in surprise, shaking his head and blushing madly. His panicked and embarrassed eyes met ones that held confusion, awkwardness, and amusement.

“I-‘m— I’m sorry! I-I didn’t mean to stare like that!”

Virgil waved a passive, nonchalant hand. “Nah, don’t worry about it. You’re just lucky that you weren’t a stranger, because if you were, I would’ve glared at you until you fell dead.”

The confectioner’s eyes grew wide and he gulped. Was…Was he supposed to take that seriously?

“Aww, relax,” Virgil snorts, the corner of his lip twitching upward. “I was joking…or was I?”

“I don’t know…are you?”

“Yeah, I am. So chill out, Patton."

Patton nodded, slightly curling up in himself at how gullible he was for falling prey to a joke like that. (Though a part of himself felt…relieved? And he didn’t really know why he did so). He suddenly remembered the reason as to why he came here in the first place.

“This house is so incredible!” He exclaims, looking up at the giant manor. “I didn’t interrupt a fancy party or something, did I?”

“Nope. Just me.”

“Have you always lived here?”

Virgil shrugged casually. “Yeah…been living here for a good while now. Got this place from…a friend of mine, I guess you can say.”

Patton failed to recognize the guarded tone in his voice. “H-Here!” The confectioner shoved the box into Virgil’s arms. “I-I made these for you!”

Blinking, Virgil raised a brow at him. “Did you forget that I made an order, or did you have a different reason for coming to see me?” he asked in a semi-teasing way. He looked down at the box handed to him (or shoved really). Black box with a purple ribbon, just as he ordered. He opens it and sees all thirty-two beautifully decorated pieces of chocolate. “Wow. These looks good. What all are they?”

A proud smile appeared on the confectioner’s face. the wealthy man liked the box; so far so good! He started listing them all, “I put four pieces of eight in there. There are cherry cordials, chocolate squares, clusters with almonds, squares filled with a cinnamon-infused ganache, two kinds of truffles also filled with ganache, rounds made with coffee, and—” He blushed a little and mumbled, “Ch-Chocolate hearts.”

Virgil chuckled. “So it’s basically chocolate, coffee, and whatever ganache is.”

“It’s like thickened chocolate that’s used as a glaze, sauce, or filling,” Patton explains. “It’s great for cakes and treats like this, which is why it’s my favorite! All the chocolate is dark, and I even added some espresso to them!”

“My favorites,” The wealthy man gave him a faint smile, causing Patton to be a lovestruck gay once more. “Thanks.” Patton mumbles out something as he took out the one that had cinnamon-infused ganache inside and popped it into his mouth. He moaned, “Damn. Won’t lie, that’s some real good chocolate you’ve made.”

“Thank you very much!” Patton beamed happily, bouncing up and down on his heels. “That’s a compliment if I ever heard one, in fact, it makes me cocoa for more!”

A huffed groan. “Oh boy. Chocolate puns,” Virgil rolled his eyes. Though he couldn’t but participate in a little bit of joking himself. “Are you trying to be as smooth as your chocolates are? Because you’re not doing a very good job.”

Patton gasped. If his eyes could, they’d be sparkling like a cartoon character’s. “Now there’s no need to be bittersweet about making puns, Virgil!”

_My whole aesthetic is about being sarcastic, edgy, and bittersweet,_ is what Virgil wanted to say, but he didn’t out of not wanting to scare the confectioner away so soon. “Someone’s gotta balance out how sugary you are.”

“Well, if you mousse-t insist!”

Another huffed groan, then Virgil popped a cherry cordial in his mouth. Dark chocolate and cherries were always considered a classic combination, like his depression and anxiety. What?

“I guess I should pay you for delivering me these?”

“Oh, that’s not necessary!” Patton insisted. “Consider it a gift! From me to you!”

Virgil frowned a bit. Then an idea came to mind, causing him to smirk coyly. “You sure? Cause I think I know of a good payment I could give you.”

Patton titled his head in confusion, but that quickly changed when he felt Virgil’s lips press against his own. They were crazy chapped and a little cold, but they slotted perfectly against his own. Following what his heart wanted— because that’s what he does— he happily kissed back, tasting bitter chocolate and espresso.

It only lasted a few seconds (six to be exact, but what was Patton counting), but it felt like an eternity for the confectioner. Suddenly, and very sadly, he felt Virgil pulling away. He opened his eyes (which he didn’t know he closed in the first place) and subconsciously licked his lips, a mad blush appearing on his face.

Virgil hummed and licked his own lips. He pulled out a third piece, this time, a dark chocolate heart. He held it to his bottom lip, not biting into it just yet.

The confectioner gulped. “C-Can I make a confection?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Can you?”

“I-I know it seems silly, but…” He squeezed the handle of his umbrella tightly. “I really, really like you!”

“…What a coincidence,” Virgil smirked wider as he finally bit into the chocolate heart. “I just so happen to like you too.”

Patton felt an excited smile spread itself across his face. Butterflies flew all about his stomach and his heart grew more than three sizes. He couldn’t help but jump a little in excitement.

Virgil moved to the side of the door, giving Patton the faintest glimpse of the inside of his mansion. He nods his head towards the foyer. “So you, uh, wanna come inside?” He asked, the rest of the heart hanging from his mouth. “I could make some coffee or tea, maybe even some hot chocolate if you’re into that instead?”

Despite him wanting to say yes— and he _really _wanted to— Patton politely shook his head. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” he declined. “As much as I want to, I can’t. I have to clean up my store, and since I’ll be staying there a bit longer, I can get everything prepared for tomorrow’s opening.”

This statement caused Virgil to frown. So…it appears as though this little mousey wants to play chase. Well unfortunately for him, this black cat hasn’t lost a chase before, not now or ever; and he certainly won’t lose this one, especially to a cute and gullible person like Patton Hart.

Swallowing the rest of the chocolate, he plastered on a smile that didn’t hide his passive-aggressiveness. “Ah. Gotcha.” He pointed a finger-gun at him. (Though, again like a cat, he was mentally throwing a hissy). “It’s too bad you can’t stay longer,” he closed the box and turned away from Patton. “Really would’ve liked to have known you more…”

“Would you mind if I came back again soon?” Patton asked. He twirled the umbrella in his hands, little droplets of rain flying about. Virgil flinched as some got on his face. “Sorry. I could even bring you another gift box if you want!”

_And thus, the cat has gotten the mouse._

“You’d visit again?” Virgil asked with a cheeky grin. “And you bring me more chocolates?” He raised a brow at him. “You do this with all your clients, Mr. Hart?”

“Of course I do!” Patton exclaimed. “And I do! I-I mean, I do treat my clients specially, but not as specially as you— especially since I kinda have a crush on you and—”

“Relax, Patton. Seriously.” Virgil huffed with a slight eye roll. “It’s fine if you wanna visit again, in fact, I want it too. Especially since, y’know, we got a thing for each other.” He winked at him.

Patton blushed and nodded. My goodness gracious Virgil was making him melt faster than chocolate on a double boiler. He twirled his umbrella again. “I-I suppose I should be making the long way home now.” Patton smiled sadly at him. “It was nice to see you again, Virgil! And thank you again for coming into my shop!”

“You’re welcome, Patton.” As the confectioner turned and was about to walk down the porch steps, Virgil had one more trick up his sleeves. “Hang on.” Just as Patton turned back again, he pulled him in for another kiss.

Their lips met having another reunion resulted in that same chocolate and coffee aftertaste from before. The confectioner’s breath hitched and a madder blush reddened his cheeks as Virgil licked his bottom lip, resulting in him opened his mouth slightly.

Suddenly, as quickly as it started, it was broken. Virgil chuckled as he heard Patton let out the quietest, puppy-like whine that he found absolutely precious. He opened his hazy grey eyes to look at darkened blue ones, the corner of his lip tugging upward. “Have a good night, Patton.”

“Y-You too…”

With one last wink, Virgil turned and walked back inside. The heavy, wooden door closing with a gentle click.

For the longest time, Patton stood there gazing at the door, almost like it would morph back into the dark and mysterious young man. What snapped him out of his trance was a loud crack of thunder.

Quickly, he rushed back to his car, but didn’t immediately drive off. He stayed parked for another long while, sitting in the front seat with the harsh rain pounding against the glass.

Finally, his face fell into his hands and he squealed. Louder and much more giddy-sounding than he did when he got his puppy (and he really loved his puppy).

He was definitely in love with Virgil Nyx.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys enjoyed this chapter, please leave a comment and/or kudos! And if you wish to read this on Tumblr instead, my username is @asoftervirge!
> 
> **Tomorrow:** Patton discovers something mysterious at 613 Rue Morgue.****


	3. Three Doors Bolted Shut + Three Paintings Destroyed = One Big Mystery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patton makes a discovering while visiting 613 Rue Morgue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now the fun really begins! >:3 Have fun reading everyone! xx Virge

That fateful Sunday night created a doomed domino effect.

That fateful Sunday night caused Patton and Virgil to see each other more and more; every Sunday evening and well into the night.

After the bell rang for the last time that night and he flipped the sign to 'closed,' Patton would get in his little car and drive to 613 Rue Morgue. Upon arriving, he would jump out of his car, skip up the steps, and knock and ring the doorbell. A giant, megawatt smile would appear the second Virgil opens the door and greets him. They would greet each other with a kiss, exchange snarky remarks/witty banter, then Patton would gift him with another box of lovingly handcrafted chocolates, which was followed by another kiss. Then Virgil invited Patton inside and they would sit in a little room where they would sip hot chocolate (or coffee in Virgil's case), chatting idly amongst themselves.

For Virgil, he was learning everything about Patton. The bubbly chocolatier wasn't afraid to tell him anything that came to mind. He inspected his expressions carefully: the way his eyes lit up cartoonishly, smile bright and full of unadulterated glee, hands waving about in front of his face like he was going to accidentally hit himself. He's seen all of this before, three separate times in fact; it was like he was being greeted by an old friend that was taking on the form of a stranger. A stranger that would pale and flee in terror at the familiar sight of Virgil, hoping they wouldn’t fall for him again and meet their unfortunate demise.

He smirked faintly into his coffee mug. The web was being weaved at a faster rate than he had anticipated, but he was perfectly content with that; the quicker the better. His mind was slowly coming up with ideas; ideas that would blossom into this spider successfully getting rid of its prey and result in—

"Virgil?"

Suddenly he was brought out of his nightmarish daydreaming and brought back to reality (which is already nightmarish enough). Virgil looked back at Patton and saw a concerned look on his face that nearly made him want to gag. "Hmm? Sorry, you said something?"

"I was just wondering if you were alright," Patton tells him softly. The kindness in his voice almost sounded grating to his ears. "You seemed to be in a daze for quite a while.”

Vigil blinked and shook his head. "I'm alright, Patton," he lied smoothly. "Just thinkin', that's all. Don't worry about it, nothing too bad or anything," He took a long sip of his coffee, the bitter lukewarm taste brought warmth and ease to his mind and body. "So. What were you talking about?"

Slowly, but surely, after some minor hesitance from Patton, the conversation was brought back to where it originally was. Virgil continued to sip his coffee, snagging the occasionally chocolate piece, as he continued to listen to Patton. (And by listen I mean listen in air quotes, it's not like the brooding man actually gives a damn about whatever the hell this slightly immature man was saying. Only caring people do that, and Virgil ain't it.) When necessary, he would give little sounds or made hums of acknowledgement to show that he cared when he actually didn't.

This would continue to be a thing every Sunday, slowly bringing Patton closer to his own unknowing demise.

An angel like him was slowly flying into the path of a devil like Virgil, who he didn't even know was devilish in the first place.

* * *

Patton loved visiting the mansion. He didn't know what it was or why, but there was something that kept drawing him back to the Victorian-styled house on Rue Morgue, and to Virgil as well.

However, there was a downside to it: he couldn't explore its interior. For some reason, a month or so after they started these little "dates" (should he even call them that? Patton feels like he should, so he will), Virgil gave him strict orders to not traverse past the tea room and the main foyer. And while he absolutely loved those two places— the dark brown-almost black wooden flooring, the ruby red carpets with golden embroidery, the plush furniture that ranged from wine, purple, and black, and even the gorgeous black crystal chandelier that decorated the ceiling of the foyer— like a Disney character, he yearned for more.

So, when Virgil had left Patton alone, for he had some..."private matters"...he wished to discuss with someone, the chocolatier took the opportunity to sneak about. Double, and even triple, checking to make sure it was completely safe, he began to make his way around the mansion. Along the way, he had to silence his footsteps so Virgil wouldn't be able to hear as the floors were slightly creaky depending on where one stepped.

He started with the upstairs; peeking his head into the various rooms within the second floor. It was mainly bedrooms, but there were nicely decorated bedrooms. He even managed to find an art gallery, filled with whacky paintings from surrealism to romanticism. He then came across a master bedroom that was very fanciful albeit dark and scary.

The walls were a dark violet-red color that was decorated in more paintings, even skeletons. There were shelves of books and weird-looking bottles. The bed was very large and had a canopy draped with purple velvet curtains, darning it were black sheets and pillows in both violet and red. Black, lacy curtains also draped the closed window that lead out to a balcony. Dressers were on both sides of the bed and they each had lit candelabras on them. A chest was sitting in front of the bed and on the other side of the room was a grandfather clock, and in front of that, a table dressed with a black tablecloth and a third candelabra.

It took him a minute to realize that he was peeking into Virgil's bedroom. With a small squeak, he quickly stepped away from the left side of the second floor, also realizing that this was were Virgil might be. He was about to leave to go back downstairs when something had finally made Patton's curiosity turn to intrigue.

It was a door, yet it wasn't just a normal-looking door. While most of them were made of ebony or mahogany wood, this one was made of dark cherry. For some odd reason, this door had an aura to it; one that the chocolatier couldn't identify (not just yet, at least.) The knob on it was a solid brass, shining like gold in the dim candlelit hallway. Carved on the knob was the head of a lion-- something that would appear in a mansion such as this-- and the man slowly morphed into a rope or vine-like border.

Patton stepped closer to the door, wondering as to what could be behind it. Could it lead to a secret garden? Or perhaps a headquarters to a masked vigilante? Maybe even a way to a wonderland, though it was quite larger than what Lewis Carroll had written. Was it just another bedroom? He grasped the doorknob and slowly twisted it, revealing...

Nothing.

The door was bolted shut.

Patton tried again. It twisted, but it didn't swing open to reveal what was inside.

He frowned. Why would Virgil have this door locked? Maybe he didn't want anyone but him to gain access to it? Or maybe he really was hiding something. But what, and why?

Maybe he could figure out the answer to that question later. Right now, he slowly made his way back downstairs to look at the other rooms, and to not garner the attention from Virgil.

After padding down the stairs, he kept walking through the massive hallway, continuously peeking his head in the rooms. His eyes also scanned the walls, taking note of the eccentric paintings and miscellaneous decorations like his room had (skulls, shelves of potions bottles & statues, rusty torches). In a way, Patton felt like he was in a Charles Addams New Yorker cartoon.

Each room that he visited was more lavish that the first. The sitting rooms were spacious, each one having a chandelier and a giant stone fireplace. The kitchen had black marble countertops and a cabinet with decorative china. The dining hall had a long table, chairs with velvet cushions, and a giant vase of roses on a black lace runner. And the ballroom was the biggest room of all, having a perfectly waxed floor, a bigger chandelier than any of the others he’d seen, and beautiful stained-glass windows.

Another door caught his attention as he gasped and turned his gaze away from a piece of stitch work that looked like the web of a creepy-crawly death-dealer.

The second door— or _doors_, for this was a double door— was also different from all the others; yet identical to the bolted red door upstairs. They were stained with a dark blue finish, making them stand out amongst the rest; the base plates were pointy, like they were in the shape of a star; and the coloring was bright gold. On the wall beside the doors was a plaque that had a quote engraved on it:

_“The only thing you have to know is the location of the library.  
_ _— Albert Einstein”_

So, this was the doors to the library? He was surprised to find one, he didn’t picture Virgil to be a reader. This made him feel happy. Maybe he and Virgil could talk about books sometime!

Curious about the books that were inside, Patton moved closer to the door. When he grasped the door and tried to turn the knobs, the same thing happened like it did downstairs: bolted and won’t turn.

This made Patton frown again. First the room upstairs and now the library? What on Earth could Virgil be hiding in them, and what was the purpose of bolting them shut?

Frowning deeper, Patton decided to explore the mansion a little bit longer.

A third and final door makes him stop in his tracks after he took a look through the conservatory, which surprisingly grew wonderful flowers from roses to tulips, to petunias and pansies, and even hollyhock and hellebores.

This last door was dark in wood, almost like it was walnut, and it appeared to be just a regular old door. However, up close, you could see engravings marked on upon it. They were very beautiful and looked almost serpentine. The knob also looked like a snake, a cobra to be more specific, with the head and spine being the handle. Needless to say, it was a very intimidating door.

Reaching out to wrap his hand on the handle, Patton nearly flinched back, sensing something…_sinister_, emanating from it. After a few moments of hesitating, he finally manages to stop flinching and places his hand on the door.

Slowly, he pulls in the handle and…

Nothing. For a third time, the door would budge open.

Patton’s brow furrows as he tried again, going as fair as to place a foot on the door to help him get it open. And yet, no such luck.

He huffed out a sigh, stomping his foot down. Perhaps he was overthinking things, but there just _had_ to be a reason as to why Virgil has these three doors bolted shut! Nobody is _that_ secretive about things like this! So, what on Earth could it be?

* * *

Patton decided to give up on trying to figure that out for now. He also felt he looked through the house enough, and he had a feeling Virgil would be done with whatever he was doing upstairs.

Walking through the grand hallway, he made sure to avoid looking at the doors to the library, not wanting to continue questioning everything. However, he couldn’t help but notice another closed door near the tea room.

Curiously, he walks over and lays a hand on the doorknob. He flicks his wrist and the door opens, allowing him to heave out the relieved sigh, not even realizing he was holding his breath.

He walks inside and is surprised by what he sees.

It was an gallery of some kind. Decorating the walls were these beautiful pictures and paintings. Some were of people— Virgil himself, and maybe of his family members or some random portraits?— and of beautiful sceneries— spooky forests, cemeteries at night, railroad tracks in autumn, and Victorian manors and Medieval castles.

Patton looked around and observed them, all stunning in their own way. However, there were three unique painting that eventually caught his eye.

The first picture frame was very elegant, painted with illustrious gold that shone even in the dim lighting of the gallery. Not a spec of rust tarnish a frame like this. Roses adorned the corners and surrounding them in a border were Baroque curls that made the frame seem as if it belonged in a museum or Versailles itself. It housed a portrait of a person that was equally stunning: someone with clear, tanned skin that looked to be glowing, beauty marks dotting their body in various places; accenting their figure was a beautiful sequin red dress that would be comparable to Jessica Rabbit’s; a white, feathery boa was wrapped around their arms; and in their delicate fingers— which were coated in a deep shade of red— was a single red rose. They appeared to be standing on a stage, a spotlight shining down on them and more roses splayed in front of their high-heeled feet. An arm was raised as if they were about to bow in encore.

The second frame was very simplistic; a wooden one that stained with a black matte finish. Compared to the first one, it almost seemed ordinary, but there was always beauty displayed in something like that. And the portrait in that matched it perfectly. They appeared to have a good size build to them with a decent amount of muscle; a dark blue dress coat was atop a white button up shirt; their legs were crossed and dressed in black suit pants; dark brown business shoes were on their feet. They appeared to be sitting in an ornate chair next to a roaring fire, a book resting on their lap, and standing beside them was a table with a fancy tea set and a plate of jammed snack cakes. Lastly, shelves upon shelves of books were seen surrounding them. To Patton, they displayed poise and even authority.

And finally, the last frame was an interesting looking one because it was a unique mix of the two previous. At first glance, it appeared to be a regular wooden frame, yet it had some form of shine to it. Upon closer inspection, Patton realized it was a bronze colored frame. But it also had some variant of design and detail to it; with engravings and even what seemed to be snake-like creatures carved into it too. The portrait within was also intriguing because the subject was much more hidden that then others were, so Patton couldn’t pick out any specific details. They were sitting behind a desk, elbows resting on the dark wood; a black suit jacket was on top of a yellow button up, a black bowtie around their neck; bright yellow gloves were worn on their hands; and a bowler hat was donned on their head.

Patton couldn’t help but look at them in awe. The details on them were so beautiful, making them truly stand out from all the other mysterious and macabre ones also hanging on the walls. It almost felt as though they were real and not paintings.

Aside from the gorgeousness of each one, there was something morbid-looking.

All of them had their faces crossed out.

Squinting, Patton moved closer. A curious but strange feeling bubbled inside of him.

Who were this people?

What was their relationship with Virgil, if they even had a relationship?

Where are they now?

What happened to them?

Did them and the closed doors connect somehow?

And, more importantly, was this the reason why Virgil didn’t want him to go past the tea room?

These questions and more swam in Patton’s head, expanding this mystery to something more than just wanting to find the keys for the closed doors.

He let out a surprised squeak as he heard distant footsteps coming closer to his location. Virgil was done with his “personal matters” from upstairs and was now going into the kitchen.

Patton forced himself to shove all his thoughts in the back of his mind as he quickly left the gallery and back to the tea room.

He managed to scuttle back just before Virgil came back in, carrying the tray of steaming mugs. He sets the tray down and looks up at the confectioner, who was fiddling with the ribbons on the chocolate box.

“You good, Pat?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “You look pale. Paler than me…and I’m pretty pale.”

The confectioner quickly nodded his head, fiddling with the ribbons more. “No— Yeah!…Yeah, I’m alright, Virgil.” he reassured. He silently cursed himself for hesitating on that answer.

Virgil continued to stare at him with a raised eyebrow. He didn’t say anything about Patton’s nervousness despite it being pretty obvious. Regardless, he sat down in his chair and took a long sip of his coffee, keeping a sharp eye on Patton.

Patton nibbles on a chocolate piece, keeping his gaze down to his lap and away from Virgil. The silence was palpable as they kept to themselves for the first time in months, both of them having different perspectives on the scenario: suspicion for Virgil, and awkwardness for Patton.

For the confectioner, time wasn’t speeding by fast enough, but soon nightfall came and he and Virgil were soon saying goodbye to each other at the front door.

“You sure you’re alright, Patton?” Virgil asked again, looking at him critically. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Heh, I mean, I get that my house is like the Haunted Mansion ride at Disney but—”

“I’m sure, Virgil,” Patton tells him again. Though he and Virgil know he’s lying judging by him not exactly looking at the other man and he was playing with the hems of his sweater. “Uhm…” Should he ask him about them? “Though I do have a question…”

“Hmm?”

He gulped. “You’re not…hiding anything from me, are you…?”

Virgil look straight at him, eyes squinting at little almost like he was glaring. Patton felt the heat coming from his gaze, flinching back and curling in himself. Both of his hands grabbed at the his sweater hem and tugged at it.

“Why are you asking?” he asked in a tone that was a little more accusatory. His stormy eyes growing darker.

“W-Well…” He started to tug and twiddle with his hem more. “Y-You told me not to explore the house and I was wondering if there was any specific reason why.”

“…Did you go and do so my house when I said you **_shouldn’t?_**”

“No, no! I didn’t, honestly!” Patton cried, looking at Virgil pleadingly. “I-I was just asking because, well…you’ve been a bit…_odd_, as of late…and I just wanted to make sure, that’s all!”

Silence.

“Virgil…?”

Silence. Then, “I would watch yourself if I were you. If you don’t have eyes in the back of your head, you could be treading into dangerous territory.” Patton’s eyes widened at that. He was about to open his mouth in protest when Virgil continued, “Have a good night, Mr. Hart.”

“Virgil—!”

The door slammed directly in Patton’s face. Just as soon as the confectioner was out of his sight, a low, threatening growl rumbled from Virgil’s throat. A scowl seeped onto his face as he marched back up the stairs and back into his office.

On the other side of the door, Patton sighed quietly. Things weren’t feeling right all of a sudden. Out of all the reactions he would’ve expected from Virgil, _that_ wasn’t one of them. Almost immediately the other man became more than a mystery to him; he became a puzzle, an enigma that he was wanting to solve…but he couldn’t at this moment.

With another sigh, he slowly trotted down the creaky porch stairs. He rolls up his sleeve and looks at his watch. It wasn’t too late, yet it wasn’t too early either; the time read 9:45.

There was still some time left in the night, and knew that Thomas was always there to help him when needed.

Maybe his friends can help him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys enjoyed this chapter, please leave a comment and/or kudos! And if you wish to read this on Tumblr instead, my username is @asoftervirge!
> 
> **Tomorrow:** Patton talks to Emile, Remy, and Thomas.


	4. What is the Dark, Brooding History Surrounding Virgil Nyx?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patton goes to Storytime, a famous piano bar and lounge and talks to his friends. Then, when he next visits Virgil, he encounters something shocking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where you can see a noticeable change in the story, with certain characters being fleshed out more and adding more context to the plot overall. Also, I would like to mention that Remy is 100% Greek and Toby being half-Greek (father is German, mother is Greek); and the elements of their backstory come from my own family’s history as my adoptive mom is a pureblood Greek. (My dad and I used to have this thing where we poked fun at my mom for it, we didn’t say anything racists, just like “ugh, the Greeks are ruining everything again” kind of like how POCs do with white people. Don’t worry, she and her family got a kick out of it, so no harm was done). Also, Remy is trans while Toby is an enby who uses fae/faer pronouns. From this chapter onwards, the story starts to get a little bit more mature, so please ready the tags and take care of yourself if you continue to read! xx Virge

The city and its neon nightlife greets Patton’s return as he drives from Rue Morgue to his newest destination. Bright pink flashes against the dark sky— competing with the bright yellow, yet outshining the dull red and orange hues.

_Storytime_ as it was called, was a piano bar that drew in young thespians, broken gays and lesbians and others, along with any other freak and outcast that were continuously shunned and ridiculed. Its manager, Thomas, greets all who enter with a smile and positive words, causing its patrons to relax their shoulders, remove their masks of everyday society, and finally _breath_.

No danger would come to them for however long they stayed within its comforting walls.

As Patton walked inside, he could hear the sound of voices— some greeting, some chatting, some laughing (of varying volumes), some flirting with other patrons— filled the air and mixed with the belting of Broadway show tunes and jazzy ballads. Cocktail, wine, and shot glasses _clank_ed against wood on certain tables and the bart top as different liquors were poured into and out of them; beer bottles slid across wood and tapped against others, their caps dancing and spinning as they fell.

Happiness and pride were the nouns that best described _Storytime_. That, and community…no, _family_. Words that Patton knew very well as they were etched in his heart and on full-display whenever he poured blood, sweat, and tears into each baked good that he made.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” A brunette man smiles at Patton, politely excusing himself from the lesbian couple he was tending to. He comes over and leans against the bar a little, hugging the confectioner tightly. “How’ve you been, Patton? I would ask you if you want your usual, but I know you’re a teetotaler.”

“You should get your eyes checked if they’re sore, Thomas.” Patton jokes lightly as he hugged back. “And I’m okay, or as okay as I can be right now.” He sighs and sits on the barstool, tapping his fingers to the beat of the latest song being played on the piano.

Thomas looked at him in concern. “That doesn’t sound good. You wanna talk to me about it?”

“I’d rather not,” Patton frowned. “Look around. Everyone’s in a happy pappy mood and I’d rather not ruin that by being unhappy and un-pappy.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” The manager rests his arms against the bar top. “Besides, everyone goes to a bar with some sort of blue feeling. And yes, it’s my job to listen to them gripe and complain, but when it comes to friends and family, I’m all ear.”

Patton contemplated it for a few minutes, then shrugged lamely. “Well…I guess I could tell you—“ Just as he was about to say, the door to the bar slammed open, causing Patton to jump and everyone else to look at who was entering.

“Opa_,_ bitches!” a loud man in dark sunglasses called through the lounge. Many, almost all, of the denizens responded with a call of their own. The cheers continued as the person strutted up to the bar like they owned the place.

The cheers died away as the person jumped onto one of the barstools, making himself a foot or two taller than Thomas (though Patton didn’t know why considering that he was wearing platform heels). This allowed him to get a closer look at what they looked like.

His hair was a darker shade of brown than Thomas’, but it also had traces of lavender hair dye in it. His outfit was very…skimpy, to put it bluntly; it consisted of a white crop top, and very tight black leather shorts, with a leather jacket to match. Silver jewelry glittered all along their body: ear and belly button piercings, necklaces (one even had a crystal moon at the end of its chain), rings, and bracelets. There were even a few tattoos etched on certain parts of their skin: a moon on the inside of their wrists, stars along one of their ankles, and what looked to be a miniature cup of coffee on their neck. Behind his sunglasses, Patton could also see silvery makeup covering his eyes and gloss shining his lips.

“Hello, Remy.” Thomas greeted.

“Tommy boy!” Remy cries out. His hands tangle themselves in Thomas’ hair, pulling him closer so he could loudly kiss both of his cheeks. “Girl, you would not believe the crazy ass night I’ve been having!”

“Oh I bet I could,” Thomas answered with a look that reads ‘you’re lucky that I love you.’ “So, what can I get for you tonight? Your usual tequilla sunrise? Vodka shots? An Irish coffee, perhaps?”

Remy slid down into the stool so that he was actually sitting. His fingers— which were long and painted black— drummed against the dark wood. “Hmm…” he hummed as he pondered drink choices in his head. “Maybe I want a sex on the beach instead, of perhaps a screaming orgasm…” he leaned in more until his lips were close to Thomas’s, almost as if they were about to kiss. “Or you could give me a slow comfortable screw against the wall~”

Patton blushed madly while Thomas raised an eyebrow. “You honestly which I could give you all the above, Remy, but you know I’m not interested.”

A soft, almost gentle laugh sounded from the other man. “Oh I know. You still miss him terribly, babe,” he says in a voice that Patton wouldn’t’ve expected from someone like Remy. “Besides, I got me a man. And just get me a slippery nipple.”

Thomas nodded as he began making a shot consisting of grenadine syrup, sambuca, and Baileys.

“So what caused you to have a wild night?” he asked as he slid the man the shot glass. “Was it something to do with your parents again?”

“When ain’t it?” Remy tells him, happily accepting the shot. “It’s the same old shit I’ve complained about before. Them wanting me to be someone that I’m not and have never been, all because they want to be seen as the greatest family within the Greek Orthodoxy.” Then he grumbled, “All the fucking _yia-yias_ wanting me to marry their sons. Like, what the hell girl? Do I seem like the fool who wants to be in an arranged marriage with a 30-something year-old dude? Hell no, this ain’t the fucking 40s anymore. Also, the only fucking thing I’d accept from walking around the table are them _kourabiedes_ served at receptions.”

Thomas winced slightly. “Sorry to hear about that.”

Remy waved a hand at him before knocking back the shot, the taste of anise and Irish cream slamming into the back of his throat. “Eh, don’t be. So fucking glad I moved in with Toby because fuck them,” he leaned back and turned his head toward the patrons. “And fuck anybody else who doesn’t support transgenders or trans rights!”

Everyone in the bar cheered at that.

“Speaking of Toby, where is he? You and he are normally attached at the hip.” Thomas questioned while he prepared another shot.

“Fae’ll be stopping by at some point, fae’s just busy finishing up his plans for his usual novel writing thing.”

Thomas hummed while Remy accepted another slippery nipple from him, throwing that one back with a satisfied noise. Then he finally turned towards Patton, raising a brow at him. “Ain’t it a bit odd for a cute, little puffball like you to be in a bar?”

“U-Uhm…”

“Remy, this is Patton,” Thomas introduced as he made a third shot. “He’s my friend and Emile’s cousin, remember?”

At hearing this, Remy sent him a wide grin. “Oh so _you’re_ Emmy’s cousin Patty-cakes?!” He spun in his tool so he was officially facing Patton. His chin was resting in his hand as he looked at him with intrigue. “Well ain’t you a doll baby?! It’s high time I finally met you!”

Patton blinked in confusion. “I-I’m sorry but…how do you know Emile?”

Remy lowered his sunglasses, revealing golden brown eyes. “Oh, Emmy and I go a little way’s back.” He chuckled. He didn’t know if he should tell the confectioner that Emile let him stay the night at his place after a bad night; they’ve been extremely close ever since then. But he decided not to let his lips be loose, for once. “He’s talked about you a lot, y’know~”

“Now, be nice please.” a voice called from close behind. Patton saw his cousin Emile enter the lounge, much quieter than Remy did. He looked a little tired, which made the confectioner believe that he got off work some time ago. He was wearing a beige cardigan atop one of his Disney shirts black sweats instead of his usual khakis, and some comfortable shoes.

Another man followed behind, whom Patton assumed was Toby. Fae was similar to Remy in a lot of ways, the only difference was this person had burnt orange hair and slightly paler skin. Fae had on a Halloween-type shirt, black skinny jeans that were torn in certain spots, with a similar leather jacket to match. Fae also had on jewelry: ear and lip piercings, a black choker, and a ring in the shape of a skull. And from what the confectioner could see, fae also had some tattoos but he couldn’t make them out, but based on faer appearance, it was probably something related to Halloween.

Remy swiveled around and leaned back against the bar top, his elbows propped up as he folded one leg over the other. “You ain’t fun, Emmy.” he pouted as he slammed back the third shot. He turned to Toby. “Finally got that outline done, Tobes?”

Toby sat down on the other side of him and gave him a thumbs up.

“I just don’t want my cousin to get scared and run off faster than the roadrunner.” Emile says as he faces Patton. With a grin, he hugs the confectioner tightly.

Patton smiled and hugged back. “Eh, what’s up, doc?”

“Nothing but the ceiling!” Emile giggles. “But even after a long day of counseling sessions, I still feel fine and dandy. Do you how do, cousin?”

“Oh. Confused and overwhelmed I am.”

“Confused and overwhelmed?” Emile asked, confused. “What’s wrong?”

At first, he was going to brush it off, but then he remembered why he came here in the first place.

“I was just…wondering if I can ask you guys about someone?”

Remy grew interested again. “Ooh, girl!! You got gossip for little ole me?” He turned his attention away from Toby and back to Patton, grinning. “Spill the beans, sister! Tell this bitch all the details!”

“Rem…”

“It’s alright, Thomas,” Emile reassures as he sits in the stool between his cousin and boyfriend. “It must be something serious if Patton’s asking us for our opinion.” He looked at his cousin. “I may not have tissues, but we can still work through your issues, Patty.”

Patton gave him another smile. “Thanks, Emmy…” He took a minute to compose himself then began rubbing the back of his neck. “So I uhm…met someone…?”

Emile and Remy ‘ooh’d noise while Toby gave him a side-eye that filled with interest and Thomas simply chuckled.

“Oh did you now~?” Remy waggles his eyebrows at Patton.

Patton nodded, a light blush came to his cheeks. “Y-Yeah,” he nodded. “We met when he came to my shoppe and he wanted a customer order of chocolates brought to his house.”

Emile and Remy ‘ooh’d again.

“We may or may not have flirted a little bit— well, he flirted more than me,” he corrected. “But I gave him some banter right back! And before I was going to leave,” a sheepish smile came to him. “He kissed me.”

For a third time, Emile and Remy ‘ooh’d, Toby lifted faer whisky glass in mock salute, and Thomas smiled at him in a manner that meant ‘congratulations.’

“Aww, Patty!! That’s so wonderful!!” Emile exclaimed while embracing his cousin. “Who was he?! What’s his name?!”

“Yeah, give us the details, girl.” Remy snapped his fingers impatiently. “Come on, don’t just leave us hangin’. Tell us who this handsome, mystery man is.”

Patton bit his lip, trying to hide his increasing grin. “He uhm— H-His name is Virgil Nyx.”

He was then met with silence. He looked over and was surprised to see a varied mix of reactions from them all, especially Remy, Toby, and Thomas, who all froze and were either full on- or semi-glaring. Emile was the only one who shared the same expression as him.

“What?”

“Virgil Nyx?” Toby echoed. “As in, _the_ Virgil Nyx? One of the wealthiest men in the city?”

“Uhm…yeah?”

“How the fuck do you know about a piece of shit like him?!” Remy exclaimed, ripping his sunglasses from his face so Patton could see the rage in his eyes.

“Remy!” Emile exclaimed in shock.

His boyfriend ignored him. “Take it from us when we say, you need to get the fuck away from him. He’s only going to cause you more trouble if you stay with him.”

Toby hummed in agreement.

“Wait I’m confused,” Patton says with a head tilt. “Why did you guys react like that?”

“I’m also confused,” Emile agreed, primarily looking at Remy. “Do you all know him or something?”

A snort of laughter came from Toby. “Do we know him?” fae echoed again, more mockingly this time as fae sipped on faer whisky.

Remy slammed down another shot. “Yeah, we know the little bitch alright,” he also mocks. “You wanna know how? Because he was the fucker who took our friend— the starlet of this lounge— from us!”

Patton and Emile recoiled back in shock. “What?”

Thomas took a deep breath before he moved away from the bar and over to the lounge’s entrance. He grabbed a photograph from the wall before giving it to Patton, allowing Emile to also get a look at what is was.

In the photograph were two people standing on the stage directly behind them. On the left, was a man who was wearing a black suit vest with black dress pants to match, a white dress shirt was underneath, and a red tie to complete the look. Their rich black hair was pulled into a ponytail that seemed to touch his back and their reddish-brown eyes shone as they gazed out onto what was presumably the audience. His arm was wrapped around the other person’s shoulder and was leaning into their side, a stage microphone was in their free hand.

The person standing beside him seemed very familiar to Patton. He squinted then realized who it was: they were in the first portrait back at the manor. It was the exact same sequin red dress, white feather boa, red high heels, along with other various features that made them stand out.

Now that he was able to see his face, Patton could see it was entirely composed of angles: a sharp jaw, a straight nose, and high cheekbones that seemed liked they could cut glass. Their eyes were slightly obscured by a mass of curly auburn hair. They were sitting atop the piano with their hands delicately placed on their lap, which were crossed at the ankles. Makeup was painted along their face: blush accented those cheeks, red glittery eyeshadow coated his eyelids, deep red lipstick made their mouth very feminine-looking, and the beauty mark underneath their left eye seemed to be darkened with a pencil.

Both of them were smiling at the camera and their faces shone via the spotlight shining on them.

“That photo was taken…maybe five years ago.” Thomas said as he kept his gaze away from Patton and Emile. “The one on the left is my late husband, Alejandro Reyes, while the one on the right was our shining star, Roman Scarlet.”

_Roman Scarlet_. Patton liked that name.

“He was more than the shining star, Thomas.” Toby notes.

“He was _The_ Scarlet Rose. The heart and soul of this place,” Remy adds. “Every performance he gave was golden; he had the whole audience wrapped around his finger. He was a true triple threat. He couldn’t do anything wrong. And _He_ was the sick bastard who took him from us.”

“I know, Remy…”

Toby clasped his shoulder while Emile pulled his boyfriend closer to him so he was almost sitting on his lap.

Patton was stunned into silence. He kept reverting his gaze between his friends and the photograph in his hands. “So…what happened to Roman?”

Again, their reactions varied. Remy’s shoulders tensed as he glared at a newly filled shot (his fourth? fifth?), Toby clutched at faer whisky glass tightly like fae was going to break it, and Thomas appeared to be more tired as his body was curled forward and more slouched.

“He killed himself.” Thomas eventually sighed. Neither Patton or Emile could stop their shocked gasps. “The police told us they found him hanging from his bed, a red ribbon or something wrapped around his neck. It was a year after he met and married Virgil.”

Wait…Roman _married_ Virgil?! He never said anything to him before…

Could that explain the paintings in the hallway…? No…It couldn’t.

“Man, I still remember that day clearly,” Remy mumbled. “I remember the audience being stunned in silence when Alejandro came up and announced that. Poor sweetie was so close to breaking down on stage. The lights turned off on Broadway that night.”

Emile gently shushed him, petting his messy hair.

“The skies grew dimmer without the brightest star shining in it.” Toby nodded.

“I remember it too,” Thomas tells them. “My husband and I were so shocked when we heard the news. It felt like our whole worlds collapsed. We were so close to Roman and to find out that he killed himself…it was crushing.” He let out a sad sigh. “Alejandro grieved for so long. As he was dying he mentioned how he was happy knowing he would see Roman again.”

Patton felt tears shining in his eyes. He wiped them away and cleaned his glasses with his sweater. He had a question and prayed it didn’t have an answer. “Do you— Do you think Virgil had anything to do with it…?”

All four of them looked at him.

“You mean, like he murdered him or something?” Toby questioned.

“If he did, I’ll make that fucker pay.”

“Remy…”

“If he did, either he’s covering it up himself, or the police are helping him.” Thomas hums in thought. “Why’d you bring that up, Patton? Do you know anything?”

He wanted to bring up the three portraits he found, the closed doors, and Virgil’s suspicious behavior that one night, but he chose not to say anything right now. “No, it was just a thought.” he finally says.

“Well like I said, you better stay the hell away from him. While he may seem cute, he’ll show you his ugly side just as quickly.”

Toby hummed again.

After that was all said and done, the conversation slowly delved to other topics, however Patton couldn’t focus on any of them.

He was given more question, but very little answers.

* * *

The routine stayed the same the following week.

Patton makes chocolates, drives to 613 Rue Morgue, greets Virgil with puns and kisses. They go inside and chat. Virgil makes drinks and chat some more, and then they say goodbye to each other at the door.

Rinse and repeat, ad infinitum.

Occasionally, there were moments where Virgil would go off to take care of “personal matters,” but other than that, nothing changed. Although it did seem like the wealthy man was a bit more…tense and reserved. As if he was keeping their one encounter in the back of his mind.

Coincidentally, Patton was doing the exact same.

_“I would watch yourself if I were you,”_ Was what he said to him that night. _“If you don’t have eyes in the back of your head, you could be treading into dangerous territory.”_

He had to wonder if Virgil meant anything behind his very vague but very harmful threat. If he did, then Patton really would have to have eyes in the back of his head. His curiosity would also be making him tread into a dangerous territory.

But he needed to know. He needed to know more about the closed doors and the paintings that may or may not accompany them. However, the only way to do that, was to find a way to sneak past Virgil.

He wondered if the wealthy man had a set of keys that would help him open each specific door.

So the next time Virgil got up, the confectioner sprang into action.

After double and triple checking like he did before, Patton started to sneak about upstairs but made sure his footsteps were quiet in the process. He didn’t want to try Virgil’s office, afraid that the wealthy man might be making a phone call or other endeavors.

So he tried Virgil’s room.

He walked into the bedroom and stated scouring for a set of keys. He searched through the drawers, under the bed, in between the mattress, and any other nook and cranny that he could think of.

Finally, he looked through the chest. He rummaged through books, extra clothing, vinyl records and cassette tapes, creepy-looking dolls, and other miscellaneous items until he felt himself that was akin to a key.

Excited, he fished it out and was surprised as to what it was: a skeleton key. (And by skeleton key, it was an actual key that looked like a skull.)

Patton hoped that the metaphor was also literal because this was the only thing that could possibly help him at the moment.

Quickly putting everything back and closing the chest, Patton scampered out of the room— quietly! He made sure Virgil’s office door was closed and the man was no where in sight before making an attempt to open the cherry door.

Carefully, he inserted the key and twisted it, letting out a quiet but excited noise when it actually opened for him. With a turn, Patton opened the door and walked inside.

It was another bedroom, a stunning one at that.

The walls were decorated with a rich red color that, similarly to Virgil’s, was decorated with painting. However they were not of anything dark and macabre, instead, they were of gorgeous scenery— waterfalls and sunsets— and even a couple Degas works. Red elegantly detailed curtains were draped over balcony doors. The bed looked much more plush than Virgil’s did, and it had the most extravagant headboard Patton had ever seen. Darning it were red sheets and pillows in both red and white with gold detailing. A fancy vanity was in the far right corner near the bathroom. On the opposite side, there was a table dressed with a red tablecloth and an elegant tea set on top. And last but not least, a small chandelier was hanging from the ceiling.

Patton was astonished. It was the most beautiful room he’d ever seen, _extremely_ different from all the dreariness that embodied the rest of the manor. It was almost a refreshing change.

He definitely wanted to explore more.

He turned around and closed the door with the faintest of clicks.

Suddenly, a chill went through the confectioner’s spine.

“Oh dear,” a warm, almost sad sounding voice called to him. “Don’t you know that it’s dangerous to open Pandora’s Box when it’s forbidden?”

Patton squeaked and turned to see where the voice was coming from. His eyes widened when he discovered there was now a figure sitting on the bed!

How was that possible? When he tried to turn the door the first time, there was no voice warning him of any potential consequences, nor were there footsteps that sounded from the other side!

Though it was very rude to stare, he couldn’t help himself. They— he? she? _it?_— were very beautiful.

Even if they were sitting, their posture was straight, making them look unimposing. They were slightly taller than him, a little on the muscular side and clad in a tight cream-colored suit. His legs stretched for days, and from what Patton could see, they were also on the curvy side with how their hipbones seemed to be jutted. His hands were delicately placed atop his legs, which were crossed at the ankle.

A smile graced their features. Gentle, and unassuming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys enjoyed this chapter, please leave a comment and/or kudos! And if you wish to read this on Tumblr instead, my username is @asoftervirge!
> 
> **Tomorrow:** Roman talks to Patton about his past and how he met Virgil.


	5. The Tragedy of Roman Scarlet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman tells Virgil his backstory on how he met Virgil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we’re introduced to Roman! :D Again, from here on, the content warnings are heavier than the previous chapters, so please take care of yourself if you decide to keep going! Have fun reading everyone! xx Virge
> 
> Oh! And just so we're clear, Roman is genderfluid and uses both he/him and she/her pronouns!
> 
> Some bits were inspired by impatentpending's "Kill the Lights," which you can read on [Tumblr](https://impatentpending.tumblr.com/post/190742503045/kill-the-lights-masterpost) or [here on AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16661323/chapters/39067169)!

Patton blinked in astonishment while the figure continued to smile gently at him.

Was— Was he dreaming, or was this actually happening?

A soft giggle breaks him out of his shocked state. It was a very melodic sound, and despite the surprise that was currently surging through his body, it somehow put him at ease.

“What’s the matter, darling?” the voice called to him, almost amused by Patton’s shock. “You happen to look quite pale. Paler than the man who lives here, and he happens to wear _quite_ a lot of foundation.”

Backing away slightly, Patton tugged at his sweater nervously. “You…Who are you?”

The person— ghost? vision? hallucination?— gave him a sparkling smile. It almost made him blush. “You don’t remember who I am?” he asked. Patton was confused by this. “Perhaps you should get a closer look. Come, come. There’s no need to be shy! My face is a familiar sight for many of my adoring fans, especially if they who went to _Storytime_.”

If they went to the bar? Patton became a little more confused, but he did as Roman asked and stepped closer, albeit shyly. With his smile still bright, Roman moved his head about to give the confectioner a glimpse of his profile. As he did so, baby blue eyes widened in sudden realization.

The sharp angles and high cheekbones. The ruby red lips. The hourglass figure. The curly auburn hair and reddish-brown eyes. There was no mistaking who this was anymore.

“Wait,” he breathes out. “You…You’re _Roman Scarlet_.”

“So you’ve remembered.” Roman smiled wider. “I am, indeed.”

Patton looked at him in awe. _This_ was the famed Scarlet Rose who Remy and Thomas gushed about so much. The one whose photographs hung on many of the lounge’s walls.

Though he looked very different from both the painting here, and the photograph that he saw at _Storytime_. Instead of a beautiful, glittering red dress, it was a three-piece suit. A suit that consisted of a cream blazer with a yellow shirt underneath, along with white dress pants and black boots. Red and gold patterned designs decorated his attire in various places. And a red-colored ascot was wrapped around his neck.

Nonetheless, he was still very handsome as he was beautiful.

“I-I…” the confectioner didn’t know where to begin. “How— How are you here? How am I able to see you like this?”

A sad smile now came to Roman’s face. “I’m here to warn you,” was all he said.

“Warn me?” Patton echoed confusedly. “About what?”

Roman didn’t say anything. He kept his head down, gazing at his clutched hands that sat upon his lap. The confectioner noted how his nails were colored the same as his lips. His eyes held a bevy of emotions in them: bittersweetness and a little bit of mournfulness.

“Ms. Scarlet?”

“It’s Mr., actually. Oh, don’t look guilty, dearie, it happens.” Roman reassured as he saw Patton look bad for accidentally misgendering him. “I’m just,” he shook his head. “It’s not the most pleasant thing to look back upon.”

“You don’t have to—”

“_No,_” the former thespian said firmly, suddenly, causing Patton to look surprised. He corrected himself, using a much more calmer tone, “No. I need to warn you of the Cruel De Vil that lives in this house.”

Patton let out a noise and nodded. “Take your time, Mr. Scarlet.”

“Call me Roman, please,” Roman tells him with a faint tug of his lips. “And…I suppose I should start at the very beginning. It’s a very good place to start.”

Patton nods again, waiting patiently as the former thespian takes a deep breath.

"As I was growing up, I always wanted had a passion for singing and dancing," he begins. "All types of music would play from either the record player or Mama's radio." A faint smile traced his ruby lips. "My parents always encouraged us to follow our dreams in the same way my grandparents did them when they first came to America so many years ago; and I've stuck by that ever since. I remember putting on little performances for my family after dinner or whenever we had guests come over; I remember how joyous I felt whenever I received applauds or cheers from my audience. That only fueled me to aspire acting unlike my brother, Remigio, or Remus as he likes to be called, who pursued literature...albeit of the more...horrific genre. Think Edgar Allan Poe or, even worse, H.P. Lovecraft."

Patton shivered, an ugly feeling forming in the pit of his stomach. Roman agreed with his sentiments.

"Don't ask me why my brother would want to affiliate himself with a notorious racist," he scoffed with a small eye roll. "Once he read _The Call of Cthulhu_, by the head of Nessie, he couldn't stop thinking about it. All of his works had some form of cosmic entity, or encryptic language, or some reference to a cult that always gave me the heebie-jeebies."

The confectioner grew a little bit sick.

"Now where were we?" Roman mumbled to himself as he lost his train of thought. "Ah, yes! My life story, not my brothers'. When I was in high school, I started joining drama clubs, classes, and performing at my local theater. My first ever performance was Teen Angel in _Grease_; it was a small role, but I immersed myself in it. So much so, that I started grabbing people's attention from the get-go. I then stared in _My Fair Lady, Annie Get Your Gun,_ and a couple small name plays."

"However, my biggest chance came through when I got the parts for two big productions: Captain Von Trapp in _The Sound of Music_, and Romeo in Shakespeare's _Romeo & Juliet_." Patton could see Roman's eyes light up as he talked. "It was these roles that could show people that I was serious about acting, that I wanted to be more than a celebrity in my community. And boy did I wow them! I made them laugh, I made them cry, I stunned them with my acting. Nobody could have that more so than me, and I did it."

"That was when I was scouted by a talent agent in the audience. He told me with my voice and my talents, I would become star on the Great White Way." Roman shook his head, almost like he still couldn't believe it. "And I took the leap of faith, and thus, Ramon Alexandre de la Rosa became Roman Scarlet."

“Why change your name?”

Roman shrugged. “I had to appeal to the Americans somehow. No one would remember someone with a Spanish name like mine. Besides, a lot of us celebrities changed our names in order to reach fame.”

Patton nods. It made sense. “So how did you end up performing at _Storytime_?”

“About a year or so after it opened. I wanted to go back to my roots of performing for small audiences. I was performing in _Hamlet_ when I met Alejandro Reyes and Thomas Sanders. We had dinner that night and the rest, as they say, is history. I started performing there on the weekends when I didn’t have a show.”

“And that was how you met Virgil?” Patton dared to ask.

Roman grew silent. Then chuckled emptily. “Yes,” he said finally. “That, was how I met Virgil. Or rather, how Virgil met me.”

* * *

One of the first things Virgil saw upon entering _Storytime_ were a bunch of excited people clambered near the stage and its runway, faces aglow by the spotlights as they yearned to see their Prince. As he moved towards the bar, he took a closer look at the steady stream of people; it was a remarkably varied group— a mix of skin colors, genders, ages, along with sexual and romantic orientations mixed together. The air was thick with excitement as they continued to fill the lounge like sheep or cattle.

He casually slid onto one of the barstools, back against the bar and elbows resting on the counter; he reclined languidly, crossing one leg over the other.

Virgil looked around and also noticed some performers in scantily-clad outfits, sequin sparkling as they swayed their hips, going up to the bar to order some liquid courage. The fingers of the musicians drummed against their instruments, creating a low, thumping bass noise as they tested them and got them ready for the show.

“Hello, there,” a kind voice spoke from behind him. “Can I interest you in a cocktail?”

Casually, almost nonchalantly, Virgil tilted his head back so he was staring at the bartender from upside down. They were looking down (up?) at him with kind eyes and a pleasant smile, in his hand was a cocktail shaker.

Virgil thought a moment then nodded. “One espresso martini, please.”

The bartender nodded as he prepared his drink. He mixed vodka, simple syrup, coffee liqueur, and freshly brewed espresso together in the shaker with ice. He strained it into a chilled cocktail glass, garnished it with espresso beans before sliding the glass to Virgil.

He took a long sip of his drink, the taste of vodka and coffee hitting his palette pleasantly. He looked at the bartender and nodded, signaling that he did a good job. The bartender smiled wider and then moved on to making cocktails for the other patrons that walked to the bar.

Sipping again, Virgil blanked out any of the noises surrounding him until he caught wind of two very familiar looking people near the far-right corner of the bar. One having dark brown hair with lavender dye, the other having burnt orange hair; the both of them were chatting about something, but what, he didn’t know.

Remy’s golden brown eyes met his for a split second. He whispered to Toby before pointing to Virgil. This caused him to force a smile and nod cordially, receiving a wink and a blow of a kiss back. If he were honest, he was glad they didn’t motion him to join their conversation, otherwise, he would’ve just hissed and made sarcastic jabs at them.

Then the lights flared dramatically; all who were still standing quickly made their way to any open seats available as a man appeared on stage.

“And now, ladies, gentlemen, and all of our beloved guests here at _Storytime_, please welcome the star of the hour— Ms. Roman Scarlet!”

The audience broke out into the loudest of applauses as the starlet’s name was announced, though they quickly quieted down as the lights dimmed and a singular spotlight shone against the thick velvet curtains.

“You had plenty money 1922,” the voice crooned as a long, smooth leg appeared onto the stage from the small parting left open. Then the curtains slowly drew back as the instruments picked up to her voice. “You let other women make a fool of you…”

Virgil sat up a little, looking slightly fascinated.

Red-painted lips twisted up into a sultry smile as they strutted over to the piano, leaning against it in a suggestive manner. “Why don’t you do right, like some other men do?”

She then sauntered across the stage to the cheers and hollers and whistles. Her red sequin dress had a long slit that left little room for imagination. “Get out of here and get me some money too?” Roman stops to raise their long leg up, running the skin of her foot along the jawline of a lucky patron. You could almost swear they were nuzzling it.

“So, _this_ is the illustrious Scarlet Rose that charms people to their knees, hmm?” Virgil notes as he takes another sip of his martini glass. He says this as if he doesn’t know who Roman Scarlet is, but everyone in the city knows who they are.

“Yep.” A voice rung from beside him. He looked to see Toby and Remy eyeing him with teasing looks that really made Virgil want to hiss and growl at them. Toby smirked and took a swig of his whiskey.

“And ain’t we lucky people to watch this bombshell every weekend, sugar?” Remy lowers their sunglasses and winked at him before taking Toby by the arm and leading him to a more secluded part of the lounge.

When they left, Virgil turned back to the stage. The dress clung to her body like a second skin, showing off her toned and slim figure; muscles shifted visibly as she prowled, blowing kisses and winking at the captives surrounding her.

“You’re sitting there wondering what it’s all about. You ain’t got no money, they will put you out,” Roman’s fingers carded through her hair, tousling it in a flirtatious manner. “Why don’t you do right, like some other men do? Get out of there and get me some money too?”

Roman then strides down the runway, one hand sliding down her belly and resting on her hip. “If you had prepared 20 years ago, you wouldn’t be a-wanderin’ out from door to door,” She reached down and ran her free hand down the side of a lucky patron’s face. They kept their eyes trained on her as their mouth hung agape. “Why don’t you do right, like some other men do?” she crooned as she slid her fingers away from their chin.

They nearly fainted.

She then hops onto one of the tables, heels clicking against the wood. Some of the patrons volunteered their hands for Roman to take as she steps off the table. “Get out of here and get me some money too?”

Virgil watches as she moved away from the stage and runway, the thickest part of the crowd and over to the bar. “I fell for your jivin’ and I took you in,” The bartender slid Roman a dry martini with a couple of olives. “Now all you got to offer me’s a drink of gin,” He watches with an impressed look as she slams the martini down the back of her throat, then popping both olives in her mouth.

The bartender takes the glass and Roman smiled sweetly at them, leaning in to kiss their cheek. “Why don’t you do right, like some other men do?” She looked over to her left and wiggled her fingers at Toby and Remy when she saw them. “Get out of here and get me some money too.”

Finally, her passionate eyes finally met the stormy eyes of Virgil Nyx.

A cheshire grin appeared on her face as trailed her hand across Virgil’s back, fingertips gently scratching at the back of his neck making him grown more and more intrigued. Then she was moving in front of him, both hands moving from Virgil’s back to his shoulders. She slid her hands underneath of his trench coat, touch blazing even through his thick turtleneck.

“Why don’t you do right,” she purred, now wrapped her arms around his neck as the audience whooped in delight. As she straddled him by a leg, Virgil felt the flames of her presence burning brighter. “Like some other men—”

Roman squeaked as Virgil instantly pulled her onto his lap, now sitting on him completely. She was warm and solid there as they were pressed chest-to-chest, stomach-to-stomach. The raptured audience’s breath hitched along with Roman as they all saw this sudden and dramatic interruption of the song, but none of them minded; in fact, they were equally drawn to the mysterious man boldly challenging their starlet.

Her heart hammered frantically against her chest as she felt skinny, calloused fingers tickle her back, seeing the smirk in his eyes as she squirmed on top of him. Whether she was squirming closer or further away from him, Virgil didn’t know, but he enjoyed watching such a composed performer crumble from his touch.

Virgil leaned closer until their noses nearly touched, breath brushing each other’s lips. Despite Roman knowing they were in a room with a mass crowd of people, all clinging onto to her every note, but in that moment, with the spotlight shining on both their faces, they were the only two people in the building.

“— D-Do~…” Roman finished the last note with a small stutter as she slid off Virgil’s lap, quickly trying to bring the sensual look on her fact to no avail.

The drums, followed by the bass, and finally the piano sounded the encore of the song as the Scarlet Rose strutted (more like scampered) back to the stage. The spotlight faded entirely, and the curtains swung closed, Roman’s last not echoing through the showroom.

There was an crescendo in applause as it died, not really wanting to break the enchantment, but wanting to scream their love at their diva. A few claps, followed by more, then it became a roar or feral howl that couldn’t be tamed by the band’s random playing during intermission.

As the spell broke over the audience, many of them went over to the bar to refill their drinks while others went and chattered to other patrons; and there were those that grabbed others to drag them to rooms outside of the lounge (probably to either smoke, make out, or have a quickie.)

It was during this time that Virgil turned in his seat and casually ordered another espresso martini. The bartender (who he learned was named Thomas) smiled and complimented at how he made Roman flustered like that; apparently it was a rare thing to do. Virgil hummed and sipped his martini, silently shooing Thomas away, who complied and filled even more drinks for patrons.

Perhaps five or more minutes later, the piano started up in a jazzy, ragtime tune. The crowed swarmed back to the stage, runway, and any empty seats as Roman sauntered back onto the stage with a less flustered face.

She got into position in front of the microphone, long fingers wrapping around it suggestively. Virgil turned back to the stage as Roman started singing another tune: “_All that Jazz_” from Chicago. Even he, who wasn’t all that much of a purveyor of the glitz and glamor of The Great White Way, could see the appeal— though this might’ve had more to do with the actual performer than the performances themselves.

Roman held the audience in the palm of her hand for another four more songs after that. She toyed with them playfully as she danced and swayed her hips in that very provocative dress and her high, alluring voice raising goosebumps on fevered skin.

Eventually, the final song, “_Nowadays/Hot Honey Rag_,” also from Chicago, came to a crashing halt and Roman stood on the stage, damp with sweat and grinning triumphantly. A model shotgun was in her hands and a red top hat was on her head.

“Thank you, ladies, lords and non-binary royalty!” She blew a kiss, gathering bouquets and individual roses in her arms. “Thank you for another wonderful night! I’ll see you again next weekend!”

The curtains fell to thunderous applause, yet Virgil cancelled it out. He stood up along with the audience as they gathered their belongings; then discreetly walked backstage as they now prowled the lounge. Dark grey eyes narrowed and scanned the halls at the other performers, backstage crew, costume designers, and makeup artists scuttling about. Finally he caught sight of a glittering gold star with the cursive '_Roman Scarlet_' underneath.

Making sure no one was looking, he opened the door with a single twist. Walking inside, he closed it with the faintest of clicks. His eyes grew intrigued and wicked as he glanced over the dressed-down starlet.

Roman's sequin dress and boa were hanging on a mannequin in the far right corner of the room, which was decorated in red wallpaper with golden details. The furniture— a couch, fainting chair, and vanity seat— matched the seating in the lounge, also red velvet cushioning. Four lamps darned the walls to give it extra lighting even with the lights from the vanity table. Speaking of the vanity, makeup ranging from palettes, lipsticks, and polishes were scattered about its surface along with playbills and pearl jewelry. A giant bouquet of red and pink roses lay on the floor by the actor's feet, next to her red heels.

The star herself was sitting in front of the mirror, wiping any remnants of sweaty makeup off her face and reapplying it. Her curly auburn hair glowed in the lighting, and her skin looked a little shining from being on stage. Covering her body (or barely) was a long, red chiffon robe with a silk ribbon tied loosely around her waist, attached to the sleeves and bottom were red feathers that looked identical to the white ones on her boa.

In the silence between them, Roman was quietly humming a tune: "_What's New, Buenos Aires_" from Evita.

Virgil smirks faintly as he shuffled across the room. And as the final bars of the song were hummed, he finally addressed her, "Roman Scarlet. I've heard so much about you before I came here."

A squeak, followed by the dropping of something. (A palette? A compact mirror? Virgil didn't know and frankly didn't care.) Roman turned around to see the amused man standing behind her. "Y-You?!" she cried out in surprise. "H-How did you get in here?!"

"Door's unlocked," Virgil motioned to it. "But that doesn't matter. What matters is, I'm finally pleased to make the acquaintance of someone of your caliber."

Roman blinked, a flattered blush dusting her cheeks. "I-I thank you, truly," she tells him. "But I'm not that special, for I am only an actor. Nothing to shout about, only a person enjoying their passion."

"But you're more than that," Virgil insists, sitting on the arm of the couch. "When you act, you take us away from the squalor of the real world."

The surprised expression on Roman's face quickly disappeared, eyes lighting up in an excited manner. "A man who also knows Andrew Lloyd Webber?! Are you trying to tempt my theatrical heart?"

"Depends," Virgil shrugged, raising a cocky eyebrow. He moved closer to the actor, pulling out a dark red rose tied with a black ribbon out of his trench coat. "Is it working?"

Roman takes the rose, breath hitching as their fingertips brush each other. She observes the richly colored petals before smelling it. She's been given all sorts of roses throughout the years, but never one like this. "I believe it might be."

Virgil smirked. "Good." He rested his right ankle over his knee. "I must say, you have quite the voice, Ms. Scarlet. Or is it Mr. now?"

"It's Ms. Scarlet currently. And thank you again for your praises." Roman says, her newly painted lips twist into a smirk of her own. Her eyes grow half-lidded, allowing Virgil to see her sparkling red eyeshadow. "So," she coquettishly crossed her legs. "What brought you to _Storytime_, Mr...?"

"Nyx. Virgil Nyx."

Roman hummed. The name sounded very enticing in her mind. “You seem to be of the dark and gloomy type who doesn’t enjoy the nightclub scene. Again, what brings you here to flirt with a someone like me, hmm?”

“Well, I just so happen to remember some old friends who come here regularly, Remy Moerani and Toby Hallows.” That wasn’t completely true, as Virgil had only met them once or twice while still working at the bookstore. He would barely call them acquaintances, let alone friends. “But I personally came to see the beautiful rose performing at this establishment.”

A bright blush came to Roman’s face. “O-Oh come now!” she squeaked, averting her eyes from Virgil. “Y-You’re just being charming!”

“I mean it.” Virgil moves so he was directly kneeling in front of the vanity seat. His fingers carded themselves in her curly auburn hair, causing her breath to hitch again. His hand moved to where it was now caressing Roman’s cheek.

His thumb lightly ran across her bottom lip, the smooth and glossy lipstick coating his calloused skin. They parted obligingly. Dark grey eyes met reddish-brown ones; ones were sharpened in concentration, while the others were widened in anticipation.

Then, in a blink of an eye, Virgil kissed her.

Roman melted into the kiss the second their lips met. Her long, delicate fingers entangled themselves around Virgil’s neck and in his hair. In turn, he could feel the other man’s trailing magically down her body, causing her to squirm and writhe deliciously in his arms.

It was like an explosion— unrestrained and all-consuming.

As quickly as it started the kiss broke, and when Roman was about to whine and complain, she felt lips marking her skin. Fang-like teeth grazing against her sharp jawline, rapidly-beating pulse point, all the way down her hourglass figure.

Biting her reddened (and newly smeared) lips, she looks down at Virgil with hazy eyes as he touches her in a way she’s never been touched before. His faded hair tickled her skin as his kisses got lower and lower; she whines at him tracing the hem of her red, lacy panties before resuming all the way down her thighs, legs, and to her feet. Her fingers gripping and loosening against the arms of her chair.

“Wh— What are you doing…?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Virgil looked up at her with seductive eyes as he kissed all the way back up her leg and thigh, nipping occasionally. Roman gasped sharply, wanting to throw her head back and let herself be immersed in this tantalizing pleasure, but she kept her gaze on him. “I’m tempting your theatrical heart,” he continued, smirking. “Or better yet,” He kissed the hem of her panties before tugging them in his teeth. “Your body.”

Roman whimpered and felt herself growing weaker. “V-Virgil~” She really wanted him, but she was worried since, well, they _were_ in her dressing room and not her apartment in the upper part of town. “W-We’ll get caught—!”

“Well, if someone decides to listen in…just tell them we’re playing patty-cake.” He tells her sitting up, unbuttoning and unzipping on his uncontrollably-tight leather pants.

Roman gulped and nodded, sighing happily as she was pulled into another searing kiss. Lips messily attacking each other, and hands roaming and groping each other. The balls of her heels were pressing hard into the small of his back.

She could feel herself slowly growing weak, weak for Virgil Nyx, weak for what he was doing to her, weak for the fire growing ablaze in her belly. She was pressed closer and closer until Roman couldn’t think of anything but heat, skin, pressure, pleasure, Virgil.

_Virgil, Virgil, Virgil._

Her hands flew to his turtleneck and trench coat, yanking and tearing them off his body. As she did this, Roman could feel him undoing the ribbon around her waist then swiftly taking off her panties.

The first moan ripped from her throat after a few agonizing minutes of kissing, touching, and prepping each other. Her nails begin clawing and scratching Virgil’s back as he rocked his hips in and out of her, panting and groaning lowly against her ear.

Any members of the show or crew that were backstage blushed and gossiped amongst themselves as they heard pleasured cries, deep grunts, and lewd praises/comments.

(When Roman came out of the dressing room and made her way to the lounge— fully dressed and with a bright blush on her cheeks— reactions to her varied. Most giggled while some dared not look at her in the eyes, others coughed awkwardly and some even wolf-whistled. Her friends were no different. Toby snorted into his whiskey glass, Remy cackled and slid her a screaming orgasm, Alejandro sighed and made his way to the stage, while Thomas shook his head and tended to other patrons.)

* * *

Patton blushed furiously as Roman giggled. He didn’t expect the ghost to give him such…details about his love life with Virgil, even if he glossed over some things (which he was grateful for). Then again, he suppose it came with the territory of being some so sensational like Roman, and mystifying like Virgil.

“Oh, I apologize, darling.” Roman said with an apologetic look. “I don’t mean to make you redder than Dorothy’s shoes, but it’s something I can’t help. Virgil was…well, quite the _tempestuous_ lover,” A thrill went up his spine, a blush appearing on his own cheeks. “Just one little touch in the right place and he made me weak in my knees~” A blissful sigh.

“S-So uhm…” The confectioner said a little suddenly, growing redder. He didn’t know how to continue in the conversation in the first place! “H-How did you remain so close with Virgil?” he asked lamely. “D-Did he keep coming to _Storytime_ or—?”

Roman snapped out of his lovestruck trance and moved over to the dresser. Patton didn’t know why, but he felt a sudden chill come through the room. He returned with a beautiful white picture frame with golden embossing on it, the stand out of it was the photograph of Roman and Virgil.

Baby blue eyes stared closely as he inspected the details. Auburn hair tickled a pale cheek as they curled into each other’s sides, arms linked with one another.

Virgil looking surprisingly handsome. His hair was actually kept out of his eyes and more violet than what it is now. A distant smile was on his face that was half-turned towards the camera. His attire was also fancier than his usual trench coat and turtleneck; he was wearing a wine colored button up, black suit pants, a lilac vest, and purple tie. He was also wearing dark eyeshadow and purple lipstick.

Roman also looked very beautiful, lovely even. He was wearing a white, lacy mermaid gown that fit snugly on his body. The detailing on it was also lined with gold, from the bodice, to the sleeves, and all the way to the skirt. His signature red makeup painted on his face. A thin, lacy veil was adorned on his hair attached to a sparkling little tiara. In his hands was a giant bouquet of red roses.

They were standing in front of _Storytime_, surrounding them were Thomas, Alejandro, Remy, and Toby. All of them had varying expressions on their faces, but they all had one thing in common: happiness.

Written on the bottom right corner of the photo, in bright red ink were the following words, a red heart encircled around them:

_‘Virgil + Roman  
February 14th, 19??’_

“He became my husband.” Roman says, confirming everything Thomas told him. “We were married on Valentine’s Day.” He looked at the photograph, his face softening as he recalled that day. “It was magical. The most happiest day of my life. Everything seemed so _wonderful_ back then. Like nothing horrible was going to happen.” His expression then turned sad, almost bittersweet. “How foolish and naive I was.”

Patton look at him. “What do you mean?” he asked in confusion. “What happened?”

Silence.

Then something Patton wasn’t expecting at all.

“He murdered me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys enjoyed this chapter, please leave a comment and/or kudos! And if you wish to read this on Tumblr instead, my username is @asoftervirge!
> 
> **Tomorrow:** Roman's murder & meeting Logan.


	6. Choking is a Kink…But Is It Also Murder?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman tells Patton all about his death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, the death of Roman! Plus, we get the introduction to the next of Virgil’s husbands! :D Again, from here on, the content warnings are heavier than the previous chapters, so please take care of yourself if you decide to keep going! Have fun reading everyone! xx Virge

Patton’s breath catches in his throat. His face was slowly growing pale again, his hands started quaking a little. There were a couple moments where he almost dropped the picture frame. He felt like he mistook what Roman had just said.

“What?"

Roman snorted. "Virgil, the Nightmare here on Emo Street, murdered me in cold blood. I didn't realize that was so hard a concept to understand.”

Another sick feeling swirled within Patton’s stomach. “I… I don’t—” He didn’t understand, couldn’t understand. “…H-How?”

Roman’s gaze remained on the floor. “It started off as a normal night, or as normal as it should be.” He started in lieu of a response. “I was at the theatre all day, rehearsing for Othello, when I came home to a lovely steak dinner.” A wistful smile came to his face. “It was so romantic…we had food, we had wine, it was almost like a date.”

Patton’s face slowly grew soft. That seemed to be the Virgil he was familiar with. Not the murderous monster the former thespian was claiming him to be.

“I wasn’t expecting it at all,” Ruby red lips were tugged in a frown. “I was just relaxing in the tub occasionally sipping at my wine. Music was playing on the record player…I didn’t even hear Virgil come in. I remember…a phantom touch trailing up my body, followed by a shoulder massage. And— And then…”

“And then?” Patton echoed with a nervous frown. “And then what?”

Silence. Followed by a bitter, empty chuckle. “I saw black.”

* * *

Virgil sat on his bed with an unreadable expression on his face. He swirled a glass of wine idly in his hand. His gaze all but pierced the grandfather clock as he watched the long, rusty hands move achingly slow.

He took a generous sip. The alcohol burned his throat as the sounds of low ticking rung in his ears.

10:42 PM. Still a little too early for the witching hour, but an appropriate time for him to commence his plan.

Finishing off the last of his wine, he set the glass down on the bedside dresser and opened its drawer. He quickly pulled out something and shoved it in his pocket before padding out of the room.

He walked through the halls until he was standing in front of a red door with a lion designed doorknob. With a flick of the wrist, he opened the door with ease and investigated his surroundings. Roman's clothing— his cream blazer, yellow shirt, and red sash— were laid pristinely on the lush bedspread. His black boots and white stockings were on the floor beside the bed. A complete copy of William Shakespeare's plays was also on the bed, opened to a particular section Virgil couldn't see (he thinks Roman told him he would be rehearsing for _Othello_, but he didn't know nor care).

A dim light was shining from the other side of the room, signifying that Roman was in the bathroom still. He strides in to hear the soft, operatic voice of Maria Callas on the record player resting on the vanity. Candles were scattered about the bathroom giving it that glow Virgil saw moments ago.

Roman himself was relaxing in the bathtub. Thick, sudsy bubbles covered most parts of his body, and a towel was covered his eyes so he couldn't see his husband walking in.

Virgil slowly crept further in, making sure his footsteps were silent enough to where Roman couldn't hear him also. He stays near the very edge of the tub, watching the thespian carefully.

A twinge of something bubbled in his stomach.

Seeing him looking peaceful like this almost made him feel bad that things would be ending the way they will be. Almost.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Roman blindly reach out for the wine glass he had at dinner. He pushed the glass over to him with just the tips of his fingers.

Then, boldly, he made his presence known to his husband by touching the part of his leg that barely breached the mountain of bubbles. Foam coated his hand as he slid his hand up Roman's leg, all the way up the performer's body.

Roman stirred sleepily, subconsciously responding to the touches Virgil gave him.

His hand continued up his body until it stopped at Roman's shoulders. He moved so he was standing behind him, both hands now on his shoulders, massaging them gently.

"Mmm~" Roman purred at the magical touch, a small smile gracing his face. He tilted his head back and leaned further into said massage.

But instantly, that magic faded away as he felt himself being shoved underneath the water. Both them fought each other for different reasons. For the thespian? It was trying to resurface. For Virgil? It was trying to keep his husband underwater.

Virgil could feel Roman's nails scratch and dig into his skin. And the more he kept clawing, the more he kept him submerged. Water sloshed about in the bathtub and onto the floor, drowning out the record player at the two continued to struggle.

Then, after a couple minutes, Roman grew limp, and Virgil removed his hands.

Roman couldn’t remember anything. All he could vaguely remember was being forced underneath of the water, the struggle to try and breath, and then, blacking out.

His chest heaves in the air; forcing water out and he barely has enough awareness to turn to his side as he coughs up the bathwater that is surging up his throat. He feels sick. The soft plush of something underneath him seemed like it was about to swallow him whole. He’s gasping and coughing and shaking—

“Do me a favor, will you?” says a voice in the distance. “Try not to puke all over the sheets. Those damn things were expensive to buy you.”

Roman doesn’t have it in him to respond just yet. He just waits until the nausea abates before he collapses back onto something fluffy (a pillow?) and looks at the other person. His chest is still heaving in giant gasps of air, and the world is still spinning above and under him. But the face is…familiar…and impossible.

“V-Virgil…?” he asks, brow pulled together in confusion. Virgil looked…different to him in that moment— darker and more brooding than normal. His already messed up hair fell further down his face, his already sharp gaze seemed sharper, and deeper frown was on his face. Roman couldn’t help but notice the sleeve of Virgil’s sweater soaked with water.

He…Roman doesn’t understand. Was…Was Virgil the one who saved him from drowning, or— the reason he drowned in the first place? His mind was slowly growing overwhelmed by all of this. He tried to sit up, yet he found his wrists bound up to the bed by some a thick band of red. He took another minute to realize he wasn’t naked anymore; instead, he was in an outfit…eerily similar to the one he wore when Virgil first appeared in his dressing room.

Virgil huffed out a chuckle, but there was some sort of sinister undertone to it that prevented Roman from enjoying its sound. “Yes, Roman?” he kept his steady gaze on the performer’s trembling figure. The hand that was in his pocket was fiddling with something that Roman couldn’t see and that terrified him.

“What— I-I don’t understand this…” Roman tells him in a slightly panicked voice. He tried to free his wrists but the ribbon was tied very tight. “Wh-What’s going on?!”

“Hmm? Nothing, why?” Virgil blinked innocently at him. He strode over to the bed, watching with a hidden glee as Roman tensed up and started squirming. “I was just wanting to, y’know…provide some comforts for you.”

An indignant squawk. “Provide some comforts?!” he echoed shrilly. Anger flared in his reddish-brown eyes. “By massaging then trying to drown me?!”

More anger flared in his eyes as he saw Virgil chuckled again but it seemed fake. He flinched as his husband slowly crawls onto the bed, a faux apologetic look on his face. Roman jerked his legs like he was going to kick him (and he wanted to), but he was quickly stopped by Virgil, who grasped his ankles tightly.

"Come now, Roman. There's no need to be hostile with me," he purred. Roman growled, he hated how Virgil's voice was enough to make him falter. "I know this might not help, but maybe I could...make it up to you?”

Roman growled again, milliseconds away from protesting, but the minute Virgil began to plant kisses along his legs and thighs, he quickly succumbed.

His bound-up hands grasped at the air as Virgil tortured his body with hot kisses. His body was arching and leaning into every little thing his husband did to him. Virgil prowled up from his abdomen, arms hooking around Roman's thighs as his legs flew to wrap themselves around his waist.

Erratic breathing and high-pitched whines came from Roman's lips. An inferno was blazing within himself as he desperately wanted to be free so he could begin ripping his husband's clothes off.

His thoughts were interrupted when lips began mouthing his neck, nipping at his pulse point. A whimper tore through him, eyes squeezing shut.

He can't take it anymore. He needed Virgil _now_.

"V-Virgil!" he cries. An almost anticipatory feeling came as he felt Virgil's hands move up. "Virgil, please! Please fu— _**gah!**_”

His body jerked as he felt something enclose itself around his throat.

The pressure is tight and constricting. Reddish-brown eyes are widened in shock and despair as he watches Virgil— his husband— choke the life out of him. He felt himself shiver, hands bunched into fists.

In his slowly blinding vision, he examines Virgil’s face above him, strangely calm and collected as he increases the pressure of whatever it was around his neck. Roman struggled to break free, trying to hit his husband to force him off him; yet with every movement he made, Virgil followed.

Blood was drumming in his ears, and underneath it, he managed to faintly hear the other’s slightly labored breaths, his own gaping ones seemed to becoming shorter by the second.

Virgil’s eyes are calm and it wasn’t comforting at all, especially when the other tightens his grip and the pain worsens, getting more intense.

At this point Roman thinks (as much as he could while being choked) that the blood supply to his brain was cut off, or at least slowed down, because there are stars and sparks dancing along the edge of his vision.

His hands are clutched into fists as he continues to kick his husband away, desperately and helplessly. Some last bit of life in him fight against being smothered, but Virgil doesn’t stop, instead, increases the pressure; the stars get larger, more until Roman can’t seem to care about anymore, now only focusing on Virgil’s hands, about how whatever it is was choking him dig into his neck, surely leaving a mark that will last even as he takes his last breath.

Somehow, watching what he can still see of Virgil’s face is making it clear that he won’t stop. That this is not a game. That he was going to die by the hands of someone who he called his husband, the man he loved, the man who was currently murdering him.

It’s not only his neck which hurts by now. It’s his neck, his chest, and his eyes, which feels as if they’re about to burst, to pop out of their sockets. Roman was getting too light-headed to feel the tears that were flowing down his face.

For a moment, the images of his life flits through his mind which is racing right now; as if it wants to make up for all the thoughts it had up until this very moment, and all the ones it will never have again.

He thinks about all the people he will miss. His Mama & Papa, his brother ‘Remus,’ his friends at the Majestic Concert Hall, his friends at _Storytime_, Alejandro & Thomas, Toby & Remy, his adoring fans, everyone who has inspired or touched his life in some fashion. He’ll miss them all.

Virgil above him is framed by the stars and black now slowly creeping in, slowly pulling Roman in and his husband away. He could almost hear Jesus and Our Lady of Guadalupe welcoming him to their kingdom.

Before he takes one last breath, he thinks about the last words of famous German composer, Ludwig von Beethoven, and thought them to be appropriate for himself.

Then, he allows himself one last breath, a gasp, and then an exhale.

_“Plaudite amici, comedia finita est.”_ Translation? Applaud my friends, the comedy is over.

_Ramon Alexandre de la Rose_  
**Alias:** “Roman Scarlet”  
June 4th, 19?? — ????, ??, 19??  
**Cause of Death:** <strike>Choking</strike> Suicide by Hanging

* * *

Patton has tears in his eyes as Roman let out a shaky breath, wiping away his own. “That’s so horrible,” he lamely says in a choked whisper.

“You can’t imagine what that’s like,” Roman whispered with a sniffle. “Seeing your husband, the man that you love, sitting above you and choking you, not giving a damn. Watching those eyes completely void of emotion as you slowly slip into the other world. Knowing that the last thing you’ll see is the smirk on his face as you died.”

He was right. He couldn’t imagine what that’s like. He didn’t want to. It all sounded so horrible. Then the confectioner was reminded of something. “Couldn’t— Couldn’t your brother have taken Virgil to court?”

A sudden bark of laughter startled him. “And just how was my brother going to do that?” Roman asked with a sharp glare. “If the police couldn’t identify my murder correctly, then what proof would he have to show them they were wrong?” He shook his head smiling ironically. “Virgil murdered me, and yet my death certificate states it was suicide.”

It was a fair point. If Virgil was able to get away with murder by throwing away the evidence, how would Remus be able to avenge his brother?

“Please, Patton,” Roman says in a desperate tone. He quickly moves toward the confectioner, grasping his hands in his own. In any normal circumstance involving the supernatural (if you could even call the supernatural _normal_), Patton would assume a ghost would be cold to the touch; however, Roman’s hands felt very warm; it was almost as if he were still alive. “Please heed my warning. Virgil is very dangerous. He’s not someone you should trust easily. Don’t make the same mistake that I made—”

“You and the others, you mean?” Patton asked, referencing the other two paintings he saw.

Roman’s breath hitched. His eyes became sad along with his smile. “Yes. This was a mistake that all three of us made. Please don’t allow yourself to meet the same fate as us.” Fresh tears began to sting his eyes. “I thought Virgil was going to be my happily ever after. I thought he was my prince charming, and yet, he became my unhappily ever after…I met my demise at his wicked hands.”

“Roman…”

“_Please_,” the performer begs again. “You have to get out while you still can. Don’t allow yourself to be seduced by his words, they’re all a ruse so he could have his way with you.” He placed a hand on Patton’s cheek. It was also warm to the touch. “You’re such a soft, little puffball. You have so much of your life left to live. Someone like Virgil doesn’t deserve to ruin that.” He whispers pleadingly, “Promise me, Patton. Promise me that you will keep yourself safe from a Wicked Bitch of the West like him.”

Patton felt unsure. He really liked Virgil, but after hearing Roman’s story, he wasn’t so sure anymore. A selfish part of him wanted to stay and learn more; to hear the other two stories and find a way to give them the justice and peace they deserve.

“I promise.” He finally says in a whisper. One that had a lie burning underneath, yet Roman couldn’t distinguish it.

Roman smiled at his, making Patton feel guilty. He saw that his eyes were becoming translucent, allowing him to see the other side of the room. “Thank you.” was the last thing the fading figure spoke.

With that, Roman fades away, leaving Patton alone in the room.

That was one origin story down, two more to go.

He let out a sniffle, wiping tears away from his eyes, not necessarily knowing how to feel.

After a night of being filled to the brim with heavy information, most people would want to rest and mentally recover.

But not Patton.

He needed to know more. He needed to discover who the other two husbands were and figure out how they were murdered by Virgil, should they have been murdered.

So, almost numbly, he leaves the room, closing it with a gentle click.

Making sure that he wasn’t going to be caught by Virgil, he quickly sneaks downstairs and makes his way to the double-doors of the library. Before inserting the key in the keyhole, Patton runs his fingers across the plaque hanging on the wall.

Library’s were full of knowledge, weren’t they? So he hoped that he would be able to find more knowledge inside of it.

Inserting the key and turning his wrist, Patton opened the doors and walked inside.

The interior of it was massive. The floors were covered with dark blue carpets detailed with silver embroidery. A giant fireplace was on the opposite wall, the mantle being made of a dark wood. In front of it were two plush chairs: one was plush in blue, also decorated in silvery embroidery, the other was upholstered in black leather. In between the chairs was a table that has a familiar-looking tea set atop it. Like with all the other rooms he’s been in so far, a chandelier hangs from the ceiling. And finally, completely covering the walls, were shelves upon shelves of books. Books of multiple sizes and topics, covers in varying shades of colors, and of different ages throughout history.

It was a book lovers dream come true.

Patton turns and closes the doors.

“They say curiosity kills the cat, but satisfaction brings it back,” a sharp, crisp voice informs. “However, unfortunately for you, your satisfaction for finding our stories will only end in your downfall.”

He turns back.

And there, standing in front fireplace (which was now roaring), Patton sees another ghost, the one that was in the second portrait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys enjoyed this chapter, please leave a comment and/or kudos! And if you wish to read this on Tumblr instead, my username is @asoftervirge!
> 
> **Tomorrow:** Logan explains how he met Virgil.


	7. Logan Oxford: Esteemed Novelist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan tell Patton how he met Virgil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we’re introduced to Logan! :D This chapter is shorter than the Roman introduction, but it should still bring excitement for people to want to learn how he died. That’s a weird sentence. lol Also, this chapter is PG, so that’s good! Have fun reading everyone! xx Virge
> 
> Also, enjoy Logan explaining why the Kessel Run isn't exactly possible! This was in a time before Solo was released, so I'll let you figure out when it this story is actually taking place. ;)

Patton squeaked and stood up straighter. For some reason, this person gave off a cold and aloof aura. Much different from the warmth and passion that radiated from Roman.

“You— You must be the second of Virgil’s husbands?”

“Spouses,” the second ghost immediately corrected. His lips curled into a slight scowl. It was pretty intimidating to say the least, especially with how tall he seemed to be. “While I do not completely mind being considered his…’husband,’ I would prefer to be called his spouse. Also my pronouns call be he/him, but I would prefer xe/xyr.”

“O-Oh!” Patton blushed, feeling bad he accidentally misgendered another person. “I’m so sorry! I-I didn’t mean—”

“Since this is our first encounter and it was merely an accident, I’ll let it slide.” xe told the confectioner while marching toward him, maintaining a good distance. “However, should we encounter each other again multiple times after this, and you still continue to misuse my pronouns, I can guarantee I will not be so friendly.”

Patton gulped. “Got it.”

Xe held out a hand for him. “Logan Oxford. Esteemed novelist and self-admitted astrophile.”

The confectioner didn’t know what half of those words meant. “U-Uhm,” he shakes Logan’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mx. Oxford.”

“Logan, please. No need for formalities.”

He nodded. Now that he thinks about it, Patton has heard the name Logan Oxford before. His cousin Emile brought xem up a couple of times when he talked about therapy (while still keeping patient confidentiality, obviously). He mentioned how xyr essays were really good, but they seemed a little too…stuffy, for his personal tastes (like most scientists/doctors/philosophers/etc).

Now meeting xem for the first time, he can understand why Emile said that.

While Roman had on very bold, fancy colors: reds and whites and golds, Logan was a stark contrast to that. Similar to his own palette but not quite. Xe had on a dark blue dress coat with a white button-up underneath it, along with black suit pants and dark brown dress shoes. A little bit of gold was on his buttons and cuff links, but other than that, the colors xe wore were predominantly dark.

Come to think of it, there were a lot of differences between he and Logan. The novelist had dark eyes while he had baby blue. Logan had straight, gelled black hair while he had strawberry blonde curls. A medium build with a good amount of muscle as opposed to a soft curvy build with a bit of chub. A sharp face as opposed to a rounded one. Square glasses as opposed to rounded lenses.

Regardless, xe were a very clean-looking individual. Perhaps even handsome in xyr own right, much like Virgil was.

“I suppose you’re wanting to warn me about Virgil too?” he asks.

“Is that not why you’re here?” Logan responds. “Or were you just wanting to put your nose into the affairs of a relatively wealthy man?”

Patton pouted. He didn’t have to be rude about it!

“But yes,” the novelist says immediately after. “I am here to also warn you about the dangers of Mr. Virgil Nyx of 613 Rue Morgue.”

“Well take your time. I’m not here to rush you.”

“I appreciate your concerns, but my past before Mr. Nyx is easy to discuss,” Logan tells him.

The confectioner nods, listening to him attentively.

“Growing up as a child, my father was a firm believer of knowledge,” Xe began. “He always believed that it was an incomparably valuable, multipurpose tool, instrumental in identifying and solving any of the world’s problems.” Dark blue eyes casted themselves over to the books. “One of the things he used to tell me was, “If you are ever worried about getting hurt, then seek knowledge. It is our greatest weapon, and our greatest defense.” And so, with that, my ever-growing thirst began.”

Xe went on, “I scoured for any form of knowledge, be that books or even educative television, wherever I could find it, I absorbed it entirely. I read every book from both my father and Ye Ye, every book from the libraries— primary school, the public one, university— etcetera. All of it was not enough for me. I eventually received my Master’s in Philosophy and a Doctorate in Physics, wishing to expand my love of all things intellect and share it with the world.” He turns back to Patton. “Before my graduation, I had published a few theses that were eventually used at other prestigious universities; and afterward, I had written a book or two, which resulted in my rise to celebrity.”

Patton nodded. Then he asked, “Had you known about Virgil before you met him?”

“I was aware of him, yes.” the novelist’s lips thinned into a firm line. “I had heard about the…supposed suicide of Roman Scarlet, famed Broadway actor and beloved performer of the _Storytime_ lounge. I had also heard of his brother’s desire to take Virgil to court without any proof of murderous intent, I believe he was even in contact with a lawyer despite this.”

The confectioner looked at xem in surprise. “Even when he didn’t have evidence, his brother had contact with a lawyer about wanting to see if Virgil could be charged with murder?”

“Indeed.” Logan nodded. “At first, I read it off as some silly story for revenge, not exactly understanding how that was actually the truth.”

Patton nodded. “So…Did you meet him at a book signing or…?”

Logan didn’t say anything of the longest time. When xe did, it was very vague-sounding. “When I met Virgil…well, let’s just say it was…a strange sense of irony.”

* * *

If he could, Virgil would have openly spat about how much he did not want to be here. When he became as wealthy as he is, he swore up and down that he would never return to this place, return to the old life he lived before he knew what it was like to have money.

And yet, here he was, walking into a familiar-looking bookstore. The name re-entering his mind like he hadn’t shoved it out oh so many years ago.

Catching his eye was the small clump of beings standing outside its old, paint-chipped door; maybe the line won’t be as long as he thought. However, he quickly (and unfortunately) realized that the clump of people outside stood at the end of a line that snaked through the entire store.

Everyone and their mother apparently wanted to meet Logan Oxford today of all days.

He should’ve expected this, and yet, he didn’t. _Idiot_.

Actual anxiety slowly began to seize his being as he continued to approach. Everyone seemed to have a book clutched in their hands. Most were the newest release that came just before the holidays, while some seemed to be personally chosen titles by the older audience, and then there were even books of essays that were held and gossiped about by students (or who Virgil assumed to be university students).

By the time the line actually started moving, Virgil felt sweat starting to coat his palms. He let out a noise of annoyance and shoved them into his pockets.

He was _not_ going to let his stupid anxiety ruin this chance for him. He wasn’t!

Walking in, the little _jingle_ of the bell above sounded like the heavy dong of a church one.

Virgil forced himself to look around. This cozy little hellhole remained the same even after almost a decade. (He even forced himself to wonder if the old owner was still here. Probably not. Maybe retired. Or dead.)

The lighting was still bad, but it gave the small interior of the store its warm glow; the carpeting was still old fashioned and had that untraceable smell to it; the chairs scattered about the store were all patchy and worn-down; the wooden tables had scratch marks and random-ass messages that people carved in with pencil; and there were still crazy knickknacks and antiques hanging from the walls or seen from the shelves.

For the widower, this place was a walk-in nightmare, like walking into someone’s grandmother’s house. But for the many customers who come and go daily, it was a little spot of comfort.

Silver-grey eyes eventually found the prize he was looking for.

Logan Oxford sat at a small table with a pen in xyr hand. The writer smiled very thinly up at an admirer as xe handed back their book from across the table.

A thousand little details flooded Virgil’s mind all at once. A full mouth that could be expressive if it wasn’t so clearly behind a reserved wall. A face that was as sharp as Roman’s but it was much more angular. Rich, dark eyes that almost seemed black: dark and mysterious, they looked like they were pulled from the night sky. Slicked back hair that would still be considered neat without all that damn hair gel.

Xe were more than attractive than the widower realized. Perfect for being his next target.

Just before it was his turn, he saw a stand full of Logan’s books, all new and old alike. Making sure no one was looking, he snagged a copy before making his way towards the novelist.

The novelist took the book without even saying anything, not even so much as a polite hello. Xe flipped it open to the first page and started to scribble on the first page with blue ink.

Virgil looked down at the book he grabbed and an idea sparked in his mind. He cleared his throat, but not loud enough to cause a scene. “Mx. Oxford?” he pretended to sound eager. “I know you’ve probably heard this before, but your philosophy essays are so fascinating.”

“You are correct, I have heard it before.” xe said. Dark eyes flashed up at him, a brow quirked and his expression monotone. “Do you have a particular question you’d like to ask me?”

He nodded. “Actually, I do…Do you believe that your field of study has been hindered by the teachings of Aristotle, or are you one of those science-y people who just nod and continuously say he’s right without any substantial proof?”

At that, Logan’s head shot up. “…beg pardon?” Xe were a little stunned by the question being asked of him.

“Do you agree with Aristotle’s teachings, yes or no?” Virgil asked again, a tiny bit amused as he made the novelist react in such a way.

Xe cleared xyr throat, trying to regain some composure. “W-Well,” he stammered. “In the case of Aristotle…the man was usually wrong. A lot. Most of his descriptions of the natural world are some variety of incorrect,” xe tell him. “Looking past his blatant sexism, his understanding of motion and forces is wrong, is astronomy is wrong, a good portion of his biology is busted, and science has in fact suffered for it. For almost 2,000 years to be specific.”

The widower hummed. (Truth be told, he hated philosophy. It was basically a bunch of old guys trying to preach certain ethics and ideologies that would eventually become outdated and criticized.) Nevertheless, he wanted to know what Logan thought about it.

“However,” Logan continued, a glimmer of something sparkling in his eyes. “It wasn’t until the 1800s when the atom was officially declared A Thing, that people began to believe his contemporary, Democritus, as opposed to himself.” Xe snort. “Not to mention, according to Cicero, his prose was apparently a flowing river of gold…when it actually was not. And it was because of him that we not only lost science but also a catastrophic amount of classical literature.”

“So in actuality, his works are basically glorified lecture-notes from his students?” Virgil smirks faintly. “I guess you know now why we should’ve listened to Gorgias instead.”

“Gorgias?” Xe ask, looking at him incredulously. “The man was, excuse my Greek, a pathological pain the ass. He didn’t care for objective truth and stated that everything was a matter of opinion, which was always bendable.”

“Exactly!” Virgil smirks more. “Everything is a construct, therefore we tried and failed. So now all we need to do is to hide under the covers until the sun goes away.” With that, the widower takes his autographed book and begins to leave the store.

“_Falsehood!_” A screech came from behind him, making him jump. He turns around to see the novelist get up and stride over to him, a sharp look in his eyes. The widower immediately stood straighter. Damn…that glare reminds him of a certain someone that he does not wish to remember right now. “Just because Gorgias was able to obliterate Stephanos of Thebes with straw-man arguments and casual fallacies, does not mean you can, Diogenes the Cynic.”

Virgil blinked. “…Diogenes the Cynic?” he echoed.

“Yes,” Logan says. “A philosopher who believed that all Sophists were liars, the Philosophers were too pretentious, therefore taking immense pleasure in poking fun at their logic.”

The widower pondered thoughtfully. “…yep. That sounds like us just now.” A glint of wicked humor shone in his eyes as Logan just looked done with him. “But in all seriousness, Mx. Oxford. You have to realize that philosophy can be a bit asinine, right?”

Logan stayed silent for a moment before breathing out. “I suppose so,” xe states. “All of the big, complex ideas simply come from those who are fallible and prone to…ridiculousness. For every Plato’s Republic, there is a Diogenes urinating at a banquet table.”

“There you go,” Virgil laughs. “I hope you really didn’t get offended by what I said. I like presenting counterarguments just to see how people react.”

“No harm done. Although I must admit, while I don’t particularly enjoy socializing with others all that much,” _Hard same._ “I would like to talk to you more. Maybe about science-based media— or whatever it is you’re a fan of?”

Virgil nodded, smirking internally. “I don’t mind at all. In fact, I would like to challenge your claims on what you call _cognitive distortions_. As someone who has generalized anxiety, I wanna know what your psychology thinks about my over-reactionary mind.”

Logan hummed in interest. “Oh? I look forward to it then, Mr…?”

“Nyx. Virgil Nyx.”

“Mr. Nyx.” _Named after the Roman Goddess of the Night_, the novelist mused. Xe liked it. Xe scribbled something onto the back of a bookmark, handing it to Virgil. “Again, thank you very much for coming and I hope to communicate with you again soon.”

“See ya.”

With a finger salute, Virgil left the bookstore with a sigh of relief. He was quite glad that his anxiety didn’t make him look the a fool and that he was out of that atrocious place. He opened the book and saw the fancy penmanship of the novelist.

On the bookmark, was his phone number.

He smirked. Maybe he did succeed after all…

* * *

Patton listed as Logan finished telling him about xyr first meeting with Virgil. He had to admit, it was rather nice to not listen to any…graphic details about things he didn’t want to know, even if Roman told him in a vague manner.

“So how did you stay close with Virgil?” he asked, remembering the questions he presented Roman. “You gave him your number; did you call each other on the phone? Or did you both kept meeting at the bookstore.”

Logan shook xyrs head. “No. However, I would invite him out for some coffee if I was in the area. And every time we did so, we would always have little discussions that would turn into…not-so-little discussions after a period of time…”

Patton raised an eyebrow, smiling knowingly.

The novelist scowled. “We did not argue, if that is what you’re thinking! We…debated, that’s much more civil.” The confectioner giggled but allowed him to continue. “And, while I’m not a traditionally…emotional person…it was quite nice to have someone debate on certain subjects with me, even if they tended to hiss at me from time to time.”

Despite this slowly becoming a sad tale, Patton giggled again. He won’t lie, Virgil did act like a cat every once in a while. It was actually kinda cute (you know…despite the fact he murdered three people…).

“I would also take him to any conferences or panels that I would be invited to attend or speak at,” xe told him. “He would act as my plus one, if you will. I must admit, even if I could manage them on my own, it was…almost beneficial for me to have him around during those events.” Xe chuckled. “I say this despite the fact that he detested such things, as they tended to prompt his anxiety and cause him to rudely hiss whenever someone— and I quote— “reached his limits with stupid questions.” Not only that, he was not primarily invested in the actual subjects of said discussions and was more interested in the catering they served.”

That caused Patton to actually laugh. That also seems like something that Virgil would do, though he doesn’t blame him at all. In fact, if he were in his shoes, he would be a bit more curious in the food too.

Logan couldn’t help xyr lips from twitching upwards. “I shall confess, there were times where I myself have agreed with his sentiments.”

Unfortunately, the smiles and laughter had to end at some point.

“But what happened afterward?” Patton eventually asked. “What caused everything to go downhill?”

The little twitch of a smile instantly when back to a frown. The confectioner sees xem turn to grab a book that was suddenly on the table (when did that get there anyhow?). It was a very beautiful looking book: dark indigo in color with a title that he couldn’t quite make out, but he could see Logan’s name at the very top. Xe opened the book, flipping it to the very last pages before handing it to Patton.

_‘ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS’_

Baby blue eyes skimmed through the short paragraphs of text. Logan gave simple but kind words as xe thanked the people who helped xem achieve such a feat, such as his parents and former professors.

Then he followed to where the novelist had pointed a finger at.

_“Lastly, I would like to give acknowledgments to my husband, Virgil Nyx._

_While we have not known each other long, and have newly become married, but having your support throughout this journey was momentous for someone like me to complete this project. Your harsh and honest (almost too honest) criticisms of my work were what kept me going to make and achieve better than my means. And while I am not an emotional person, nor do I express my emotions often, I quiet enjoyed having your company while I wrote and rewrote my rough and final drafts… And I must thank you for bring me my favorite green teas and jellied biscuits whenever I hadn’t eaten or drank anything for hours on end._

_This is the most I have genuinely praised someone so highly (and also a first), but it cannot be helped. I truly hope you see the appreciation and respect I fester for you.”_

Patton couldn’t help but tear up. To Logan, they may appear simple, but they were also so beautiful.

“As you’ve read, by the time I had written my last book, Virgil had become my spouse.” Logan says. “We were married in a simple ceremony. Something that was vastly different from Roman’s grandiose nuptials.”

Patton giggled. It was amusing with how Logan was poking fun at Roman from beyond the grave. (In an almost magical way, he could almost hear an indignant noise in his ear).

“But,” Logan’s face grew sad, almost angry. “That did not last long, unfortunately. I had quickly fallen for Virgil’s rouses like the one before me. And, like him, I was met with an unfortunate end.” A deep, almost tired sigh. “To think, someone like him could have been two steps ahead of me in a metaphorical game of chess…I must say, it was truly a checkmate on his end.”

“Him murdering you, you mean?” Patton asked, fearing the answer Logan will give him. Silence. A very familiar silence.

Then, Logan nodded. “Yes. Although, poisoning is the correct terminology this time around.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys enjoyed this chapter, please leave a comment and/or kudos! And if you wish to read this on Tumblr instead, my username is @asoftervirge!
> 
> **Tomorrow:** Logan's death.


	8. Intelligence is Lethal and Deadly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan tells Patton all about his death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, the death of Logan! Plus, we get the introduction to the last of Virgil’s husbands! :D Not a lot of triggers for this chapter, but it’s still a death chapter, so please take care of yourself if you decide to keep going! Have fun reading everyone! xx Virge

Patton’s heart dropped to his stomach. Like with hearing the method of Roman’s murder, his face grew pale and his hands started quaking. He could swear that his legs were also buckling and quaking underneath of himself.

“You—” he almost didn’t know what to say. “Y-You were _poisoned?!_”

“I hadn’t realized my sentence has fallen upon deaf ears,” Logan’s mouth twists into something almost cruel. “After hearing of Roman’s ultimate demise, I did not realize that hearing Virgil is capable of committing such horrific and murderous atrocities is still hard so conceive.”

Again, Logan didn’t have to be mean about it, but it’s true! Even after hearing Roman explain how he was murdered; Patton was still in some form of denial. He’s been seeing Virgil for over a month now, and he’s just now discovering the truth about him? It was like he was in a nightmare! And, in a way, he is; a nightmare where he isn’t sleeping, which seems to be much worse.

He didn’t have it in him to ask how, he didn’t even know if he could. Poisoning was poisoning, it was so linear that there is almost no need for an explanation. And yet, Logan was willing to give him one.

“It appeared to be a normal day for the two of us. We woke up together, made and had breakfast, then spent some time by ourselves— I was working on essays for journals and drafting a possible novel idea. Virgil isolated himself upstairs in his office doing whatever he tended to occupy himself with— but that didn’t mean we did not spend quality time together. We would have afternoon tea, then then dinner, and after that we would spend some time reading in the library before we would go to bed.”

“It was very unexpected,” the novelist’s frown grows deeper. “Virgil seemed…almost normal, as normal as a murderer can be. I failed to see him poisoning my possessions, I failed to any murderous paraphernalia in the manor, and most importantly, I failed to see the truth behind all the niceties. I failed to see how I had fallen into the trappings of evil.”

Patton’s heart sunk lower in his body. Logan’s fancy way of words almost made is seem crueler.

Xe continued on. “I was here in the library, simply enjoying my novel when he came in with a tray of drinks and snacks. Then he left and returned with a box for me, a box containing my favorite work by Agatha Christie. One could say that I was touched by what he had gifted me. I absorbed myself in the novel, but I slowly started to have an upset stomach. I drank my tea in hopes that would help me, but then an unbearable pain quickly took hold of my being. Sweet-sounding words were then cooed into my ear, but they didn’t hide any cruelty. And finally, blackness.”

* * *

Virgil shuffled about the kitchen, humming a tune under his breath as he finishes preparing drinks for himself and his new spouse Logan, French press coffee and green tea respectively. The kitchen still faintly smelled of the dinner they had just had together moments before, a dish that was a particular favorite of the novelist.

(Even though xe was going to die soon, he figured he would give xem the same treatment he did his first husband. Minus the whole drowning and choking, that is.)

He also got started on biscuits and cake for themselves, grabbing dishes of butter, marmalade, chocolate sauce, and jelly spreads— which was an unabashed weakness of Logan’s.

All that was needed was one more finishing touch.

He made his way upstairs and into his office. Sitting on his desk was a decorative box, but he wasn’t focused on that just yet. He rummaged through the drawers before finally finding what he was looking for.

It was a small bottle filled with a white powder.

Any normal person might confuse it with everyday things like flour or baking soda, but Virgil knew exactly what it was and what it was used for.

Smirking, he grabbed the bottle and the box before taking them back down to the kitchen.

He opens the bottle, making sure he doesn’t inhale any of the toxins, before dumping some into Logan’s tea. He quickly puts the bottle away before stirring the contents together so it would dissolve.

When it did, he finally carried the tray to the library where he knew his second partner would be.

Sure enough, Logan was reclining in one of the chairs closest to the fireplace. One hand was holding xyrs book securely so it wouldn’t fall out of xyrs lap, while the other was perched on xyrs chin. Xyrs dark blue eyes were looking at the text in deep fascination.

Virgil couldn’t help but peak down and look at the cover.

_Cosmos_ by Carl Sagan.

He liked talking about stars and constellations and whatnot with Logan every now and again, but sometimes he would get annoyed because the novelist would drone on and on. He often wondered how xe was able to do that publicly, every single day and not annoy people. Then again, the panels and conferences they would attend (much to Virgil’s chagrin) would often have people that shared in xyrs interests.

In a way, xe almost reminded him of Roman, what with how he would talk about Disney and Broadway musicals all the time. The only difference was he didn’t hear singing constantly coming from the novelist’s mouth, if any for that matter.

(Such a minute thing almost made Virgil miss the late actor…almost.)

A soft clearing of his throat got Logan’s attention.

“Ah, Virgil,” Xe sits up a little straighter and closes his book, but not without putting a page-marker in it. “How are you this evening, my moonlight?”

Despite his dark motivations, Virgil couldn’t help the tiny blush and faint growl. Damn this nerd for saying something so simple yet making it affectionate at the same time!

He quickly recovered however. “Oh, I’m doing just fine, starshine.” He says as he sets the tray down on the table beside Logan. He moved closer and gave him a small pinch to the corner of his lips. (This was their special way of expressing love to each other since neither were very affectionate people). “Reading anything special?”

“Nothing that I already didn’t know about,” xe tells him, showing him the cover. “But it’s still an exciting read regardless.”

Virgil hummed. “Well, I’ve brought some tea and biscuits for us before bed. I even brought your favorite jellies because I know you can’t resist.” He snickered at the noise Logan made. “I’ll be right back, just have to get something else from the kitchen.”

“Alright.”

His devious smirk returned as he slipped out of the library and back into the kitchen where he left the box. He grabs it and returns to see Logan still preoccupied with his current book.

The wealthy man cleared his throat once more, signaling that he came back.

Logan looked up. “Oh, you’ve returned.” Xe noticed the box Virgil was holding. “What is that you’re holding?”

“Just a little something special for you,” he says with a sweet-looking smile. “Here. Open it.”

Setting down xyrs book and taking the box, Logan opens it and is surprised by what was inside.

“Is— Is this a copy of my favorite Agatha Christie novel?” xe asks in astonishment as xe pulls out the copy of _The Murder of Roger Ackroyd_. “I-I…I don’t even know what to say…”

“Maybe a thank you?” Virgil snickered.

Logan cleared xyrs throat, faintly blushing in embarrassment. “Y-Yes. Yes, I suppose— Uhm. Th-Thank you for this, Virgil. It is a very thoughtful gift coming from you.”

“Anything for my new spouse.” He gives him another pinch before taking his mug of coffee.

No more words were spoken between the two as they read from their respective novels. The only sounds made were the crackles of the fire and the occasional turn of a page.

Virgil couldn’t help but look to see how Logan was fairing. He watches with a hint of amusement as the novelist was more absorbed in this book than the last. He hadn’t even touched his tea yet!

Although he wanted to frown at that, he didn’t.

He knew better.

The time will come eventually.

What he did notice was that Logan read (or maybe skimmed?) the pages then lick at xyr fingers before flipping to the next one.

Virgil hid his victorious smile within his mug. He sprinkled the corners with that exact same powder he dumped into the tea, so at least xe were ingesting it. But it wasn’t enough to garner a true reaction out of xem just yet.

He goes back to his book, but still looked up at his spouse every now and again.

Things started to get interesting sometime after.

Logan let out a quiet grunt, which wouldn’t be a big deal had it not been for what Virgil had done to the book and tea. He watches as the novelist tries to play it off.

“You okay there, starshine? Got a headache or something?” He feigned concern, watching his second victim for any tell-tale signs that the poison was slowly taking effect. He then sees xem drinking xyr tea, hoping that would help ease his pains.

That only made things worse, however.

Logan began to cough, and again, it wouldn’t be something to worry about had it not been for the blood that appeared on his hand.

“Are you sure you’re alright, L? That was a pretty hard cough.” Virgil continued to fake his concerns.

Logan coughed again, waving him off. Xyr hands started to shake as xe brought xyr cup to xyr lips. “Y-Yes,” xe reassures. “I-I’m alright, Virgil.”

_Xe think xyr fine. How adorable._ Virgil had done his research; it takes about a half an hour for an eighth of a teaspoon to kill someone. He put in a little more than that, just for good measure.

Virgil kept staring at his spouse, watching every little thing that went on. It was intriguing, if he were to be honest.

Preoccupied with his dark thoughts, he didn’t realize Logan’s eye roll into the back of xyr head, and only became aware of his surroundings when he heard the _thud_ of his spouse hitting the floor, a book falling right beside xyr body, and xyr glasses flying of xyr face.

With a smirk, the widower slid down to the floor, holding Logan’s head in his lap. He pets xyr hair, the very thing he remembered the novelist doing to him when he (pretended to) have anxiety and panic attacks. All the while he whispered quietly, knowing Logan would hear but wouldn’t respond to.

“Oh, Logan. My brilliant but naïve starshine. I think I forgot to tell you something. There might have been a little…_surprise_ in both your tea and your book. Yep, a surprise. What was it, you might be asking? Well, if you hadn’t already deduced it— and I doubt you have— it was a bit of arsenic that I keep in my medicine cabinet.”

He chucked sinisterly while Logan seized in his arms, all the while, petting xem like xe were some sort of sick puppy.

“How does it feel, Mx. Oxford? To know that your death was caused by the two things that had meant the absolute world to you?”

Logan jerked violently, foam starting to slip past xyr lips. Virgil laughed.

“The minute I heard you come into my old bookstore, it seemed like a sense irony was on my side. And you were such an easy target too! All I had to do was debate with you, butter your ego up with flattery and you followed me like a schoolboy getting praise from a teacher.”

Virgil’s smirk grew wider, almost to where he was smiling.

“Too bad it wasn’t gonna last. Like I did with Roman— you’ve heard about him, haven’t you? The Scarlet Rose from my first marriage? — I had to get rid of you eventually. And now, I am.”

Logan’s body jerked violently again, foam now pouring out of xyr mouth and down xyr chin. Xe kept coughing, blood turning the foam pink and red in places where blood clots came out.

“Now, just sleep, Logan. Sleep and dream of those oh so wonderful constellations you kept ranting about to me~”

Suddenly, after Virgil’s last coo, the novelist stilled. The blood and foam slowly stopped leaking out of xyr mouth, but xe already drench the now two-time widower’s hands in red.

Virgil fished cleansing wipes out of his pocket and cleaned his hands as best he could. He knew he would have to get the peroxide out later. Right now? He was going to finish reading his book.

Allowing Logan’s head to _thump_ to the carpet underneath, he stood up and simply sat back down in his leather chair, acting as if nothing had happened.

He flipped the page and chuckled at the short story he turned to.

Edgar Allan Poe’s “Murders in the Rue Morgue.”

Devilishly ironic.

_**Name: **__Logan Oxford  
November 03, 1954 - April 18, 1978  
_**_Cause of Death:_** <s>_Arsenic Poisoning_</s>_ Accidental Suicide_

* * *

Patton felt tears burning his eyes once more as Logan finished his recollection. The novelist looked down at the floor, xyr hands were behind xyr back so the confectioner couldn’t see how they were shaking in slight rage.

He didn’t know what to say, he couldn’t say anything. All he did was sniffle and wipe his tears.

“I was stupid to play it off as nothing,” Logan says, a cold anger slowly seeping into xyr voice. “I should’ve recognized the symptoms of arsenic poisoning.” Xe huffed something akin to a laugh. “It’s indescribable…watching your spouse place your head in his lap and pretend to comfort you in such a sickening way. All the while telling you it was his intention to kill you.”

First with Roman, and now Logan?… He still can’t imagine it, it all sounded so horrible.

Suddenly, something that the novelist said resurfaced in his mind.

“Wait,” he says with a small crack in his voice. “Did you say…Virgil worked in that bookstore?!”

Logan nodded. “That’s what I hypothesized from his words. He didn’t seem all that comfortable with being there the first time we had met, last I recall.” Xe tell him. “While it is not a lot of evidence, there is no way he wouldn’t say that to me— as I was _dying_, mind you— if it wasn’t anything but the truth.”

All of this was changing everything for Patton.

Virgil originally worked in a bookstore? He lied to him from the first moment they met? His heart was slowly breaking. If this was just one thing Virgil lied about, then how many more lies did he tell him? And, most importantly, how many of them did he fall for?

“I’m not one to beg,” the novelist tells him. Xe looked at him with a small hint of desperation in xyr dark blue eyes. “But you _must_ leave this place at once, Patton. We are warning you because we do not want another person to fall prey to Virgil’s inhumanity.”

Patton was surprised by how tiny his voice became.

“Logan—”

“I’ll have you know that we are not saying this to scare you,” Logan’s eyes sharpened, causing the confectioner to coil back in surprise. “We all have been flattered by his smooth praises, compliments, and other methods of blandishment. He made us feel good, made us feel more appreciated than how we were before we fell into his hands.”

The novelist’s shoulders slumped and now xe were looking at him tiredly. Xe were tired. Tired of all the emotions xe had suppressed while xe were alive. Now, they were finally breaching up to the surface.

“Listen to me, Patton. There is much more to your life than just having Virgil in it. You have accomplished so much before you met him, and you will be able to gain so much more if you leave.” Xe explain. “Love makes people do extremely irrational things. It makes them pull stupid actions, and this, is one of them. So please, heed our warning and escape this manor. Escape Virgil.”

“…I promise.” Patton says in a whisper, another one that had a lie burning underneath it.

Feeling satisfied, Logan nods and fades away. The fireplace flickers out the second xe vanished.

Two stories down and only one remains.

With a sigh, Patton leaves the library with a gentle shut of the doors (or as gentle as double-doors can close). He curled forward as he rested against them.

His mind was swimming with emotions, primarily those on the negative end of the spectrum. And despite the deep (_very_ deep) desire to run and never look back, he still didn’t have it within him to do that just yet. He needed to know who the one in the suit was, what role did they play as Virgil’s last husband (or spouse), and how did the two-time widower destroy him too.

So, Patton forced himself to straighten up and made his way to the back of the manor.

Light shined from the glass door of the conservatory, sending him a small amount of comfort as he stopped in front of the walnut door. He looked up and down it, observing the serpentine engravings marked on it. Then, his gaze settled on the cobra-looking door handle.

After inhaling and exhaling a deep breath, he inserts the key and moved his wrist. It finally clicked open after a few minutes of jimmying with it. Feeling emboldened, he pulls the door back and walks inside.

_It was an office,_ he realizes. _A simple, yet fancy looking office._

The carpeted floor was a dark green as opposed to the dark blue ones in the library, and instead of silver embroidery, it was detailed in gold. The desk was mahogany wood and in front of it, were two black leathered seats.

A file cabinet rested against the wall right of the desk, and a glass tank (maybe for fish? reptiles?) rested left of it. A bar was to the left of the door, no alcohol was stocked on the shelves, aside from a crystal platter holding cups for vials of stock and whisky.

Behind the desk was a beautiful, ornate glass window that shined moonlight thanks to the parted dark green and gold curtains. Photographs hung in various places on the walls, many of them were newspaper headlines — headlines of famous court cases, many of them won.

Patton closes the door.

“My, my.” A deep, silky voice rings in the air. “It amazes me how an innocent little lamb continues to wander far from the comforts of Eden.” The confectioner shivers at the sound. “But I wouldn’t want to be a lost sheep forever. One must return to God soon, or he shall be slaughtered by the wicked Devil himself.”

Patton looks around to see where the voice was coming from, but he couldn’t find anyone. Then the leather chair slowly swivels around to face him.

The person sitting in it? Was the one in the third portrait.

The one in the suit.

“I’ve been expecting you, Mr. Hart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys enjoyed this chapter, please leave a comment and/or kudos! And if you wish to read this on Tumblr instead, my username is @asoftervirge!
> 
> **Tomorrow:** Dorian explains how he met Virgil.


	9. A Shady, Bitchy Lawyer Named Dorian Cain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian tells Patton how he met Virgil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And last, but most certainly not least, we have Dorian aka Deceit! This chapter was a bit of a doozy to write so I hope it still turned out okay. And just so we’re aware, I know absolutely nothing about law or anything like that, so I apologize if I said anything incorrect. lol Also, this chapter does have some smut in it, **so please heed the tags and take care of yourselves!** With that said, have fun reading everyone! xx Virge

Patton stayed where he was, already feeling unsure about the suited figure behind the desk.

They chuckled. It was deep-sounding, just like their voice was, but there was an underlying tone that the confectioner couldn’t quite make out. Eeriness? Maliciousness?

“Come, come,” they motioned a hand, beckoning him forward. “There’s definitely no need to be shy, little lamb. I can be your shepherd until you leave here to return to God.”

Despite his words, Patton still didn’t move.

He started tugging at his sweater. “H-How do you know my name…?”

The figure behind the desk chuckled again. “Why darling,” Patton shivered at that. “I know just about everything on specific people. After all, it’s not like it’s a lawyers’ job or anything.”

“You’re a lawyer?”

“Get the butterfingers out of your ears, and probably your mouth too.” They snipped, causing Patton to tug at his sweater more as he grew more insecure. “But yes, I am. Dorian Cain, prosecuting attorney.”

Patton gave him a wary eye. “Is…that your actual name?”

“_It is._”

“It is or it isn’t?”

The man, Dorian(?), chuckled yet again. “Alright, alright. I can’t keep up the lying charade forever.” He shows the confectioner a little teeth, small canines touching his bottom lip. “My name is in fact Dorian Cain; unless you wish to be like one of my _adoringly_ disloyal fans and dead-name me, then I’m not going to give you the time of day.”

After a minute of silence, Patton deemed he was somewhat trustworthy and came closer. Upon doing so, he sees a little bit more of the details in the lawyers’ single-breasted suit: like how wrinkled his light yellow button up was, the wear-and-tear of his yellow gloves, and even the ribbon adorning his bowler hat.

He also couldn’t help but stare at the scaring on the right side of the man’s face. He winced internally at how the skin was lifted in some places and how it looked redder than the rest.

Dorian was quick to take notice. “You know, pictures _definitely_ last longer in this situation.”

Patton actually winced this time, curling in himself. “I’m sorry!” he quickly mumbled. “I didn’t mean to stare…”

“It’s _never_ anyone’s means, but they do it anyway.” The lawyer side-eyed Patton with mismatched eyes— one the darkest of browns, the other almost golden.

“…Can I ask how?”

“Acid,” the lawyer said simply. “Turns out _The Long Halloween _isn’t just for a Batman comic and people will call you two-face for more than just your tongue.” He grumbled lowly.

Patton actually felt a twinge of guilt, even remorse.

“However, we aren’t here to talk about me,” Dorian purred as he reclined back in his chair. “I mean, we technically are, but I think you’re much more interested in my affiliations with Virgil, no?”

“I am, yes.” The confectioner nodded, sighing a little. “So please, let’s just get this over with.”

“_Do let’s_.”

Patton tried to quell his oncoming head pain as he waited for the lawyer to speak again.

He pulls something out from under his desk: a flask, undoing the cap and taking a long swig of its contents. The confectioner couldn’t stop the shiver of disgust as Dorian let out a small, satisfied noise.

“Now,” he swirled the flask around in his hand. “I was fortunate enough to have parents born and raised in this county, so I don’t have an immigrant story for you. But growing up, I _did_ deal with the expectations of being fifty-percent South Asian, Indian specifically— my mother’s family came from Egypt. I had to have perfect grades, find a suitable husband to marry into— as long as they were either Indian or Egyptian, and have a career in either the medical field, engineering, or law.” Another swig, another noise. “As you can imagine, I was 2 for 3.”

The lawyer nods. “I didn’t exceed all that well academically, but I did have enough of a high-standing to not be _too much_ of a disappointment. Despite that, I had a passion for philosophy so I was able to use that as fuel to get myself into law school.” He tells him. “And even if I wasn’t the _daughter_ my parents were born with, I was _clearly_ straight so I could still find a suitable husband. And as you can clearly tell, I did so with Virgil. Not bad for someone who is considered to be a model minority.”

Patton hummed.

“My first breakthrough at being a prosecutor came while I was still a student. I was one of the few students lucky enough to be chosen for an internship. My sharp-tongue and cunning wits helped me win, and that was when people slowly began to take notice. However, I didn’t get my first high-profile case until after I graduated from college and started my law firm.”

“What case was that?” the confectioner asked.

“It was about a politician who decided to make personal use of government funds.” Dorian took another swig. “Needless to say, the people weren’t happy with how their tax money was being used for a man to take his mistress on not-so secretive vacations. And so, I was assigned to the case. Unsurprisingly, I won and was instantly swarmed with profile clients and other cases after I started my law firm. With that, I quickly became a prominent figure within the judicial system.”

“And was this how Virgil took notice of you?”

“I would imagine so,” Dorian says with slight exasperation. “I mean, why _wouldn’t_ someone as handsome and wealthy Virgil target someone who was equally wealthy?”

Patton nods, although he felt a slight twitch in his eye. “So how did you meet? Did he come to your law firm, or did he take part in court somehow?”

The lawyer takes one last swig before laughing to himself. He leans closer to Patton, resting his chin on his palm. A glint of something was twinkling in his eyes.

“I met our dear Virgil Nyx during a case. And let me tell you, he was _quite_ the man I expected him to be~”

* * *

Virgil will be the first to tell you that isn’t emotionally stable for jury duty. However, in order to get his hands on the Courtroom’s Serpent, he needed to get involved in some manner. Being in the audience seemed too easy, so he had a couple of people on the inside help him get into jury duty.

Unless you did it often, jury duty is torturous and Virgil wouldn’t wish it on his worst enemy; but it did provide him ample opportunity to study up on his next target.

Dorian Cain was a sharp one, he’ll give him that. He was very self-aware, intelligent, cunning, and even a touch self-preserving. He wasn’t afraid to make those poor victimized fools squirm on the witness stands.

He won’t lie, he was actually starting to become impressed with him.

After about 45 minutes or so, the judge finally calls recess and Virgil was one of the first ones to slip out of the courtroom, not realizing a pair of eyes watched him as he did so.

The widower pretended to wander around the courthouse, when in actuality, he stayed close to the courtroom in case he misses his chance to run into Dorian.

He finally encounters him when taking a drink from the water fountains.

“Imagine my surprise when I saw _you_ sitting on jury duty.” A voice announced in his ear, nearly making him jump out of his skin. He quickly whips around to see who snuck up on him. “A spider attempting to creep up on a snake? Color me very intrigued, Mr. Nyx.”

Virgil stands straighter, wiping away any excess water with his thumb. “I must say, you’re quite the talented lawyer, Mr. Cain.” He hums, eyes glinting as he gave Dorian a similar smirk. “It seems your two-faced reputation as the Courtroom Serpent proceeds you.”

Dorian’s smirk grew wider. “Well aren’t you charming~” he purred. “It is truly an honor to catch the attention of a powerful man such as yourself~”

“…Okay I have a feeling you’re overselling it a bit.”

“I can assure you I’m not!” the lawyer pouts.

Virgil raised an eyebrow.

A blink, followed by a chuckle. “Very well. Though I must ask, there has to be _some reason_ as to why the wealthy Virgil Nyx is preying upon a prosecuting lawyer such as myself?”

“I didn’t say I was preying upon you. Who said I was doing that?” Virgil insists with faux innocence. “Maybe _you’re_ the one who’s preying upon _me_, Mister Prosecutor?”

“What would you do if I am, Mr. Nyx?” the lawyer steps closer, almost too where their breaths were hitting each other’s face. “Are you going to try and make me confess~?”

Grey eyes started to cloud. “Would you like to find out, Mr. Cain?”

“Only if you can keep up…literally.”

“Literally?”

“If you want what you want, then I don’t recommend you fall behind~”

With that, Dorian swiftly turned away from Virgil, footsteps clanking loudly on the courthouse tile. He didn’t have to turn his head to know that the wealthy widower was trailing behind.

Mismatched eyes scanned the halls. He mentally went through each room as he walked by them.

_Utilities?_ No, too boring and clichéd.

_Men’s restroom?_ Also clichéd, but there was the thrill of possibly getting caught.

He walks a little faster. Footsteps start to catch up.

_Perhaps he was bold enough to sneak into one of the empty chambers, or maybe a jury room…_

Dorian walks even faster. Virgil is now beside him.

A triumphant smirk appears on the lawyer’s face as he feels himself being pulled forcefully into one of the rooms. He didn’t even care which one it was. What matters now is his risqué tryst with this mysterious two-time widower.

Their lips pressed together in an intense battle for dominance, tongues exploring each other’s mouths like a drug. The kiss felt eruptive— violent and riotous. Dorian felt himself melt into it as his long, lithe fingers yanked at Virgil’s hair and clothes.

Harsh pants hit each other’s ears as the kiss broke with a loud smack. Dorian hisses out a weak cry as the widower turns him around, his back touching Virgil’s chest. He lobs his head back and closes his eyes, moaning and writhing into the hand that touched him deliciously.

Burning hot kisses were placed along his neck as the hand began unbuttoning his suit jacket and some of the ones on his dress shirt. It then trailed down his chest, to his stomach, and all the way to his pants, undoing the belt and slipping underneath the waistband.

Dorian felt flutters in his belly, but he quickly stopped Virgil before he could go further.

“W-Wait~” A growl hit his ear. “R-Recess is almost over…”

“I don’t fucking care.” Virgil growled again, now pinning the lawyer against the wall. “I can get you coming within five to ten minutes. You’ll be dripping wet in front of the entire court.”

One fist clenched itself against the wall while the other was held by the wealthy widower. “N-No…y-you mustn’t just yet~” Dorian grits out.

Virgil pressed his body closer, making the other man hiss out a groan. “C’mon, Dorian,” he urged while trying undo more of the lawyer’s clothing. “I managed to shag Roman in her dressing room before she had to go back on stage. It’ll be no different if I fuck you before the trial continues.”

_So that’s how he entrapped his dear sibling, hmm?_ The less horny part of the lawyer’s brain managed to store that information away for later.

However, when he felt fingertips trying to get underneath of his waistband again, he made sure to grab onto the widower’s wrist, preventing him from going further. “S-Stop.”

Another growl came from Virgil.

Dorian smirked as he slowly turned around, his back now being pinned to the wall.

“I said recess is almost over,” he tells him. When the widower tried to protest, he placed a finger to his lip. “But~! If you don’t pull any stunts now, and for the rest of the trial, I’ll let you have your incredibly dirty ways with afterward~”

Virgil stayed silent for a moment before letting an exasperated sigh. “Fine, I guess I’ll behave. This time.” He then smirked at he lawyer, causing Dorian’s own smirk to grow wider.

The two of them redressed (in Dorian’s case, at least) and smoothed out any wrinkles before briskly leaving the room they occupied. They kept at a safe distance so no one would think anything of it.

(Even if Virgil wasn’t allowed to get too handsy, he couldn’t help but give the lawyer little smack before slipping back into his role as a juror. But not before Dorian gave him a pinch back.)

The rest of the trail went off without a hitch and the widower truly got to witness the Courtroom Serpent in action. He was blunt and scathing as he proved why the defendant was wrong and why the accused was guilty. All the while, he threw glances and faint smirks at Virgil, and when he sauntered up to the jury as a form of manipulation on his end, he stayed closer to the widower than anybody else. He even threw some very faint touches of the hand into the mix.

(If Virgil was a bit honest with himself, it was almost a turn-on. Something he really didn’t get when debating with Logan when xe were still alive. Not to mention they were asexual, so…)

With all that in mind, it was no surprise that the jury found the defendant guilty.

After the judge issued his sentence and dismissed the court, Virgil was once again the first to slip out of the courtroom and followed Dorian closely.

Just as he was about to pull the lawyer into another room, the tables had turned.

Grabbing him by the tie, Dorian was the one to drag the widower off somewhere before their lips reconnected in another fiery kiss. Virgil didn’t waste any time locking the door and slotting himself between the lawyer and what was presumed to be a table.

While their tongues dominated each other’s throats, their hands started flying about as they began yanking and tearing off their respective clothing.

Virgil broke the kiss and looked down at the lawyer, giving a low and raspy wolf-whistle.

Dorian panted breathlessly underneath him; his heaving chest revealed two white scars through his dress shirt. Letting his greying eyes wander down lower, he lingered onto the sight of a gorgeous pair of black panties attached to some stockings.

“Lace panties, eh?” Virgil grinned. His husky voice held a teasing tone underneath it. “Seems like you were wanting to get laid, hmm? Are you guilty or innocent, Mr. Cain? Don’t lie. I can easily sentence you for perjury.”

His hand began to slide down Dorian’s body, causing him to feel those same flutters from before.

“Guilty, of course,” the lawyer managed to say in a smooth voice. He was rewarded with fingers teasingly tracing the hem of said panties. “Though you’re guilty as well, Mr. Nyx~”

“Ain’t denying that.” Virgil tells him honestly. “You sure seemed confident when you came up to me at the beginning of recess. Were you hoping to get a quickie out me then, guilty or innocent?”

Dorian couldn’t help but chuckle salaciously. “Who said I was wanting to get a fucking out of you? Maybe I wanted one out of my rival lawyer, or maybe the defendant himself~?”

The hand on his panties stopped and Virgil flipped him over onto his stomach. “Now what did I say about lying, Mr. Cain?” he asked while the lawyer hissed. “Guilty or innocent?”

“Innocent,” he admits. “But I quickly became guilty the second you started following me~”

Virgil chuckled hotly, sending shivers down the lawyer’s spine. “Touché.” He says, almost sounding impressed. His hand slipped past the hem and went downward until he was met with a wet, warm mound of flesh.

Dorian’s mouth hung agape, barely choking out a pleasured moan.

The widower was silent for a slight moment. “Well, well.” He hummed. It was a hum that was laced with intrigued. A smirk was dancing against the lawyer’s brown skin. “You _really_ must’ve assumed you were gonna have some fun, hmm?”

A couple fingers teasingly traced at his folders. Dorian chewed his lip to try and suppress a noise, not actually wanting to get caught having sex in a random-ass room in a courthouse.

“What? No retort?” Virgil teases huskily. He slowly inserts one finger inside him, smirking at the gasp that managed to tear itself from the lawyer’s throat. “Perhaps you’re guiltier than I realized. Though I gotta admit, this is a first for me and I’m pleasantly surprised so far.”

Somehow, Dorian managed to chuckle. “W-Well, I’m glad I could be such an experience for you—” he gasped again as he felt the second finger slip inside. “N-Now if you can’t just quit being a tease—!”

Now it was Virgil’s turn to chuckle. The raspy rumbles sent thrills up and down Dorian’s spine, the widower could surely feel his fingers getting soaked. “My, we’re a bit impatient, aren’t we?” he cooed, pumping his fingers in and out of the lawyer’s body. Each time he did so, he earned another soft yet tantalizing noise from him. “I wonder what would happen if I just kept at it like this, hmm?”

An annoyed but weak cry sounded. He tried to buck his hips down but Virgil kept him still, fingers still moving in and out of the lawyer’s body.

“Let’s not be so hasty, shall we?” the widower had the nerve to chuckle again. “Unless you can’t resist me and are slowly growing tempted by your desires for me?” he moved closer to Dorian’s ear, fingers going a little bit faster now.

Dorian groaned. His ungloved hands dug into the table underneath him.

The spider had the snake caught in his web, now it was waiting for the moment to strike.

“What will it be, Mr. Cain? Will the snake be tempted by his own sins, or will he feign the innocence of a lamb?” His fingers curved up, eliciting another moan. “How do you plead?”

Virgil’s thumb pressed against a little nub, and when he did, the lawyer caved.

“_Guilty~_”

Another victory for the widower. He was just too good at this.

Sordid noises rang out in the air as Virgil’s fingers moved faster and rougher, wanting to bring Dorian to his first (of many) orgasms. Eventually, the lawyer tensed up and released the most pleasured of screams, one that even got the widower to grow harder.

While Dorian came down off his post-orgasmic high, Virgil slipped his fingers out of him and licked them clean, groaning at the taste. “Fuck you’re warm and tight…”

Breathily, the lawyer laughed and shakily stood a little straighter.

Virgil held him a little tighter, allowing him to lean against his body for support. “Now,” he grins, his fang started nibbling at the juncture between Dorian’s neck and shoulder. “How should I fuck you next~? With my mouth, or maybe you’re ready for my cock instead~?”

He feels a hand slither up to yank at his hair, causing him to grit his teeth. “M-My next case his in an hour,” he hears the lawyer tell him in a gravelly, sex-filled voice. “Y-You can make me crumble any way you like~…but will a dominant man like you do so in that amount of time~?”

Silence, then a chuckle. Dorian can hear Virgil quickly trying to unbutton and unzip his uncontrollably-tight leather pants and belt.

No other words were spoken as they continued to remove the rest of their clothes. The lawyer could feel his body being twisted and turned in multiple ways as the widower started taking him again and again. Deep growls and groans tickled his ear, while slightly higher cries sounded from himself.

All the way up until the lawyer had to excuse himself as to not be late.

(If the judge gave Dorian a look of disgust when he came to the next trial, he paid it no mind.)

* * *

Patton was deeply red in the face. Dorian chuckled at his reaction.

He should’ve expected some kind of details about the lawyer’s possible love life with Virgil, like he did with Roman…but he certainly wasn’t expecting him to be, well, explicit about it.

The confectioner wasn’t sure how he was still looking him in the eyes after hearing all that.

“I suppose I should apologize, but why should I?” Dorian asked with a little smirk. “Virgil was one of the best lovers I’ve ever had. All he had to do was kiss or touch me and I instantly became wet~” A lustful sigh, followed by a shiver trailing up his body. “And my _goodness_ was he carnal in bed~” He fanned his face. “I can’t tell you the number of times he made me suck the nails out of a headboard—”

“Stop, please!” Patton squeaks out quickly. If he were honest, at the moment, he missed talking to Roman. At least he was able to be less dirty about it. Oh, gracious how was he going to go on after that? “A-Aside from seeing Virgil for…_that_!” He temporarily grew redder in the face. “D-Did he keep visiting you in court or…?”

“After that case? No. Since jury duty is random, Virgil wasn’t always at my cases. That, and he claims to be too emotionally unstable for jury duty, though I digress.” Dorian chuckled again, snapping out of his trance. “So, he came to visit me at my office. Though he did come to court as the occasional audience member, as those are generally open to the public.”

The lawyer pulled something out from one of the desk drawers. It appeared to be an old newspaper. Patton grabbed it from him and was immediately struck by the headline:

**“FAMOUS PROSECUTOR DORIAN CAIN MARRIES TWO-TIME WIDOWER VIRGIL NYX”**

Patton looked at the almost graying, photograph closely. They truly looked like a wealthy couple just from this alone: from how they were dressed, down to the wedding ring Dorian was showing off on his finger.

Virgil was a tiny bit unkempt, but even then, he was still striking. The widower was wearing a black blazer that was completely unbuttoned; if the photo was in color, no doubt the dress shirt he wore would be dark purple (the top button was even undone). He also had on black suit pants that were held up with a white belt and black dress shoes. Like his wedding with Roman, if in color, he would have that dark eyeshadow and purple lipstick. His fringe was slightly in his face, but it was a nicely added detail that brought out his silvery-grey eyes.

Dorian also looked handsome, being presentable then just as he is now. He wore a black, double-breasted blazer than accented some of the curves he has. If in color, his dress shirt would be a pastel yellow, darker than what his gloves are. (He must’ve had those for a long time because they looked the same as they do now). His suit pants and dress shoes were both in black. His bowler hat was still on his head, but instead of a black ribbon, it was a yellow one that was tied into a bow. And instead of a bowtie, he had a regular black tie. The added details were as nice as Virgil’s were: a fur coat draped over his shoulders, eye makeup that was dark green, and black painted lips.

Their arms were hooked around each other, but the lawyer also had a hand splayed on Virgil’s chest, fingertips going past the opening of his shirt). The ring he had on was very expensive-looking, with the jewel being a nice sized rock.

Judging from the background, they were standing in front of the courthouse. A piece of paper was in the widower’s free hand, showing it off to the camera: a marriage certificate.

“We got hitched at the courthouse about…6 months or so after we met.” Dorian tells him. Patton was a bit surprised at that. So short of a relationship, if you can even call it that.

“Did you know?” he asked aloud.

The lawyer raised a brow. “Did I know of his previous husbands’ deaths?” he finished for him. “Of course I did. _Everyone_ did if you read the papers. However, I didn’t realize they were murders. I knew Roman’s brother was trying to take him to court without presenting any substantial proof, that’s why he contacted me to see if I could conjure something up for him.”

Patton looked up from the paper. “Roman’s brother contacted you? You’re the lawyer Logan mentioned before?”

“Indeed I am,” Dorian nods. “At first, I took it as someone wishing to slander a celebrity, we’ve all had that notion before. Not to mention that it would be me trying my husband. I didn’t start putting the pieces together until about a year into our marriage.”

The confectioner nodded. “Did you get caught? Is that how you were murdered?” He winced at phrasing it like that, but it was a question that was bound to come out.

Dorian chuckled darkly. “Well, you’re not _wrong_, but you’re not _right_ either.”

Now Patton was confused. “What do you mean?”

Silence. Then the lawyer pulls out another newspaper.

Patton takes it and was stunned into silence at what the headline read:

**“PROSECUTOR DORIAN CAIN SHOOTS SELF. FOUND IN HIS OFFICE…GUN IN HAND. VIRGIL NYX NOW A THREE-TIME WIDOWER.”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys enjoyed this chapter, please leave a comment and/or kudos! And if you wish to read this on Tumblr instead, my username is @asoftervirge!
> 
> **Tomorrow:** Dorian's death & Patton's ever-growing resolve.


	10. Hands Are Blood-Stained, But Not the Ones the Police Thought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian tells Patton about his death and forces him to make a decision, and quick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And last, but most certainly not least, we have Dorian’s death! Just like the last chapter, I know absolutely nothing about law or anything like that, so I apologize if I said anything incorrect. lol Also, this chapter does have some smut in it, heavier than the last chapter, so please heed the tags at the top of this and on AO3! With that said, have fun reading everyone! xx Virge

Color drained from Patton’s face, his eyes wide in absolute shock and pure horror. He read and reread the headline over and over again until it was deeply embedded into his brain. There were split moments where he almost crumbled the newspaper entirely.

“I…I- I don’t—” How can someone like Virgil be so malicious and cruel?

“Anybody is capable of being a villain,” Dorian says as if he could read Patton’s thoughts and see the cogs in his mind trying to turn. “If Virgil can have hidden motives to kill off his spouses, so can everyone else. No one is immune to such heinousness.”

Patton couldn’t speak, he was too stunned to even say anything. The lawyer tried to offer him some comforting words.

“…Although, I will point out, as I have seen in some of my previous cases, no one is truly born evil. Some start of decent and well-intentioned, but can be radicalized by dangerous and predatory things. And, when given enough time, they can become truly hideous versions of their former selves. Now before you take this as me defending Virgil’s actions,” Dorian raised a hand when Patton tried to speak up. “I am not. I will never forgive that bastard for murdering me, Roman, and Logan in cold blood. That’s an obvious statement. But what I am saying is that, what Virgil can do— has done? It could’ve happened to me or even you given the right mix of circumstances and proper stimuli.”

The confectioner remained silent for a moment longer. “So…you think something might have happened to cause Virgil to…be who he is today…?”

“Most likely.” Dorian nodded. “And while I said no one is inherently born evil, that isn’t always the case. Some of the most famous serial killers were apathetic psychopaths; however, I don’t think that applies to Virgil. Even though I know I shouldn’t be saying this about him, I believe he had moments where he truly cared about us. In all of our eyes, not just his own, they appeared to be fake flatteries, but who says they were completely? Something tells me, that deep down, he did love and appreciate us for who we were outside of our fame and fortunes.”

Patton nodded, although hearing the lawyer’s words made him feel a bit more confused about the situation being presented to him. “But he still murdered you…”

“But he still murdered me,” the lawyer nodded solemnly. He reopened the flask and took a long swig. (If the confectioner wasn’t a teetotaler, he would probably ask for one himself).

“However, we’re not here to listen to me lament about Virgil,” Dorian clears his throat. “I had some sneaking suspicions that he was planning on doing something to me, if any of the rumors were anything to go by, so I tried to remain two steps ahead of him.” He explains. “Yet he mysteriously kept himself ahead of me whenever he got the chance. It was a game of chess, one of us trying to see each other’s strategies before making our moves. Just when I thought I would be able to checkmate him…”

Another swig.

“Like I mentioned before, I was slowly putting the pieces together shortly after we married. It really started when I tried to enter the library, wanting to see if he had any books on philosophy and law that I could read. And yet, the doors were bolted shut. Like you, I was confused, and when I went to confront him about it, I was met with the same suspicion and passivity that he undoubtedly gave you. Which is why, in the end, he ended up giving me books that he personally collected himself, never allowing me to mention the library again.”

The lawyer was right, as Patton recalled how vicious the widower was when he asked him if he was hiding anything from him. He even went as far as to threaten him, understanding now that he also did it to Dorian, albeit much more promising.

“It all began to add up slowly: the rumors, the bolted door, the certain mannerisms Virgil had after that point? There was no doubt he was covering his tracks about something. Remember how I mentioned Roman’s brother coming to me about collecting evidence? I originally said no because it would be skeptical to try my own husband; when in actuality, I was coming up with a plan to take him to court myself. To try and see if the jurisdiction would remain on my side. I was working in my office when he came in…he seduced me in a way he knew I liked. We, uhm, had a _little_ fun after that~” Dorian chuckled.

Patton couldn’t even react to that.

“And the next thing I knew, I had a gun pointed right at my head.”

* * *

Virgil sat behind his desk in his office, fingers drumming against the foot of his wine glass. Sherry. Amontillado.

The scent of nuts and tobacco permeated the air; it almost smelled like Virgil was smoking a cigarette (which is funny because he hated smoking). He lifted the glass and took a sip, almonds and caramel danced on his tongue as he stared at the ceiling. His brows were furrowed in contemplation, mouth twisted into a slight frown.

He looked a bit more dressed down than what he usually is when planning this like this. No turtleneck or sweater this time around, but a purple t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The only two things that remained the same were his pants and boots. His feet were resting on the dark oak wood as he reclined back in his leather chair.

Silvery-grey eyes lazily looked over at a skill that was resting on the far right corner of his desk.

Crawling about it, was a giant brown tarantula.

“You two gonna give me some ideas, hmm?” He asked. Neither the skull nor tarantula said anything. “Nope? Well, thanks anyway.” He turns his head back to the ceiling, an irksome sigh leaving his lips.

His mind went through the methods he used to kill his past two spouses.

Roman Scarlet? Strangulation.

Logan Oxford? Arsenic poisoning.

But with Dorian Cain? He wasn’t so sure on how he was going to do it.

That snake was much sharper and more intuitive than Virgil realized. He always seemed to be a step or two ahead of him (or tried to, at least); tongue placating him with equally smooth lies, gaze veiling over their own hidden emotions and underlying motives.

Virgil, begrudgingly, had to admit that he sees his latest spouse as something akin to an equal. In the eyes of Hegel, Dorian would be the thesis to his antithesis.

Sipping at his amontillado, he holds a hand out towards the skull and the arachnid scuttles onto his palm. Virgil then swung his legs off his desk and took it back to its terrarium. He kept sipping his sherry as he watched it happily scamper about.

_Dorian was slowly getting clever,_ the widower scowled in thought. There’s no doubt that he was starting to figure out Virgil’s previous kills. Rumors started to persist, headlines making bank on wondering if the lawyer was going to be his next victim.

And he was, of course, but he had to find a way to make it look as though his hands were clean the entire time.

He silently cursed himself. He knew he was possibly dealing with a bad hand when he set his sights on the lawyer, but he couldn’t help himself. He became tempted by Dorian in a way that was uniquely different from the previous two.

With Roman? He was tempted by her theatrics, his ability to create a false character.

With Logan? He was tempted by xyr thirst of knowledge, xyr ability to create more questions with every answer that was given.

With Dorian? He was tempted by both; he was a slightly dramatic person who had a strong hankering for knowledge. So much so that he became a deceiver both in, and outside of law.

That, was what truly gave him the moniker of a serpent…and Virgil just had to marry him.

Now all he had to do was figure out how to kill him and get the money.

Contemplation returned to his face as he stared blankly at the terrarium, hand swirling the wine glass. He took another sip, letting the alcohol burn his throat as he continued to think.

But then something struck his mind.

Of course! ...Why didn’t he think of _that_ before?! ...Every dapper-like villain has at least one of them! Why hasn’t he used one yet?! (He was almost disappointed in himself).

“Heh, I think I know how to finally put an end to that deceitful lawyer…Thanks for the help, Jezebel.” Virgil cooed at the tarantula before giving her a treat and watching as she devours it monstrously. He blinked and turned his attention to the skull. “Ah, you too, Herod.”

And so, finishing off his amontillado, the widower grabs his coat from the rack and exited his office, a dangerous smirk lingering on his face.

Dorian was sorting through all the work scattered about on his desk. His brows were furrowed in concentration as he read everything he had: some were scribbles on a yellow legal pad, some were clippings of newspapers (keywords were underlined in red with phrases highlighted in yellow), and some were Polaroid pictures.

It was things that he can barely call evidence, but it might just be enough to actually start some form of legal proceeding.

With a tired sigh, he started to put the items away in a manila folder labeled **‘VIRGIL NYX.’** He can make phone calls and schedule dates and all that jazz whenever he finds the time to. But he would have to do it quickly, lest Virgil get any ideas. If he actually got the jurisdiction on his side, he would have to talk to a certain someone in regards to a potential celebration.

As he finished putting away all the “supposed evidence,” he didn’t even hear someone slowly sneaking up behind him, wrapping their arms around his waist.

“My, someone seems to be a diligent little snake,” was the purr near his ear.

Dorian tensed up and spun around. (Fortunately for him, the widower didn’t see his name on the folder for he had flipped it over just as he turned to face his husband.)

“Virgil darling, must you scare a serpent out of its skin like that?” he asked in a surprisingly smooth voice. He pretended to smooth any wrinkles in his shirt.

The widower chuckled, looking the least bit apologetic. “My bad,” he says. He looked over his shoulder and down at the desk. “What’re you working on?”

“Oh, just another case.” The lawyer lied easily. “I’m hoping to take it to court soon.”

A hum. He moved closer to his husband until his back was against the edge of the desk. “You wouldn’t, uhm…be _busy_ right now, would you~?” he asked innocently, the corner of his lip faintly twitched upward.

Dorian chuckled, easily getting where Virgil was going with this. “For you?” he smirked, hiking himself up onto the desk. “Of course not~”

“Good.” Virgil smirks back, running his thumb across the lawyer’s bottom lip. He watches as it parts open instinctively, one of his front canines lightly touching the skin. “Cause I ain’t taking ‘no’ for an answer.”

Within seconds, he pressed their lips together in a passionate kiss.

The lawyer answers back just as fervently the second their lips met. Long, lithe fingers entangled themselves in violet hair, tugging and pulling just enough to make his husband growl huskily. In turn, he could feel hands roaming down his body, fingers going down until they neared his belt.

The kiss breaks, a trail of saliva connected to their lips. Dorian’s legs wrapped around Virgil’s waist as his husband’s mouth started to maul at his neck. The lawyer hissed and tilted his head back further so the widower would have more access to give him all the hickeys he wanted.

Slowly, almost teasingly, Virgil’s kisses went lower and lower as he got to his knees. He quickly shucked off Dorian’s belt and undid his pants, sliding them down with minimum effort. He then kissed the hem of his favorite black, lacy panties before resuming down to his thighs. A groan escaped his lips as he felt a warm heat tickling his face.

As the widower did all this, the lawyer’s hands gripped the edge of his desk. His heels were resting atop his husband’s shoulder blades.

Virgil’s stormy, wanton-filled eyes gazed up at him. If he was going to kill him tonight, why not let his husband have one last memorable fuck (or multiple) before he goes?

It’s the most gentlemanly thing he can do.

(Much different from Roman, who he killed while begging to be fucked.)

He decided be a tease though, as he kissed and nipped his way up Dorian’s thighs to his soaked panties, taking in the warm scene of his soon-to-be-dead husband.

Dorian’s mouth hung agape. A keen noise sounded from his throat as he felt his husband’s tongue quickly getting to work as he licked through his undergarments. Despite all the allegations surrounding the mysterious widower, he can say, without a doubt, that he was lucky to have found a man that can work wonders on him.

“_Mmm…Virgil~_” He spread his legs a little wider, thighs beginning to shake as Virgil licked firmer, broader strokes against his folds.

The widower’s dark grey eyes casted themselves back up at the lawyer, internally enjoying the pleasure he was giving him. He wasted no time in pulling back and hooking his fingers underneath the lace before taking them off in one swift motion. Then he finally pushed his tongue inside him, groaning as he already felt the lawyer clench around the wet muscle.

“_Fuck! V-Virgil~!_”

Virgil hummed as his tongue pumped in and out of Dorian. Judging by how the lawyer was moaning loudly with every movement, it was obvious he wasn’t going to last much longer. He began to push himself in deeper, his movements predominantly being fast and passionate.

Dorian’s hands flew to his husband’s hair, yanking hard at the violet locks while his body squirmed and writhed in pleasure. It wasn’t long before he threw his head back and his mouth hung open, a piercing cry ringing out in the air.

A sticky warmth spilled all over Virgil’s lips, nose, and lower chin as he milked his husband through his release. He removed his tongue with a loud _pop!_ before lapping up all the leftover juices that trickled down his thighs. He pulled back and licked his face clean before claiming the lawyer in another searing kiss, allowing Dorian to taste himself as their tongues fought for dominance. As they made out, Virgil stripped himself of his signature trench coat and tossing it onto the floor, along with his husband’s blazer and tie.

(He was rather fortunate that the gun didn’t go off as he did so.)

Eventually, the lawyer felt himself being laid back against the walnut desk. His ears were greeted with the sounds of pants quickly being undone and flung about on the floor. More moans came from his lips as the widower pressed their chests together and started jerking his hips in and out of him. Harsh pants and low growls replaced the noises from before.

Fingers matted themselves at the base of violet hair while the other clawed at porcelain skin, leaving behind crimson red markings. The balls of his heels pressing into his lower back.

“_Virgil…Virgil…Virgil~!!_”

Sensual noises, chants of names, and other erotic praises/commands echoed in the air. The entire office became flooded with their musky, heady scents as multiple rounds of sex ensued.

Handprints appeared on the glass as they fucked against the window.

Tears appeared on the leather as they fucked atop the furniture.

Loud thuds echoed outside the room as they fucked against the walls.

And friction burned their skin as they fucked on the carpeting.

Neither of them cared how many hours passed by. All that mattered to them was the arousal that clouded their minds and the orgasms they continued to milk out of each other.

“_Ohh~…Ohh god, Virgil~_”

Virgil simply growled in response.

Long had the two been going at it. So much so that Virgil’s legs were beginning to give out about halfway through, which is why he was currently sitting in the chair behind Dorian’s desk with the lawyer nestled on his lap.

Fingers were clawing at the lawyer’s waist while feet were planted firmly on the carpet as the widower all but forced Dorian to do all the hard work from here on. (Not that he minded of course, for he was enjoying the pleasure of raising and lifting himself off his husband’s cock at a relatively fast pace). Aside from the sounds of skin slapping against skin, the leather seating underneath squeaked as it rubbed against them.

Dorian’s panting abruptly stops as he drew out a long, shameless moan.

“_Th-There~!! R-Right there, darling~_” His movements start to pick up more speed. “_M-Move Virgil…fuck me harder~_”

Virgil growled again.

His head, which was originally pressed against the lawyer’s clavicle, moves so his teeth were nipping sharply at the flushed skin, bruising some already there hickeys. His tongue scraps maddeningly over his husband’s neck and shoulder blade, tasting salt on his lips when they met the nape of his neck.

As he does this, his hips finally began to snap violently.

The lawyer couldn’t breathe due to the sudden, heady rush of sensations that overwhelmed his body. One hand was still clutching the ends of Virgil’s hair— almost too where he was ripping strands out— as the other still clawed at his back, marking it up even more. He could feel his husband pounding into him hard, feel the growls that sent thrills up and down his being.

“F-Fuck…” was the harsh whisper that burned against his brown skin.

Dorian rolls his hips into each thrust, body writhing deliciously atop him.

Virgil could hear the lawyer’s noises grow higher and more wanton, which signifies that he was extremely close to releasing his final orgasm (quite literally too). He could also feel his husband’s walls tighten around his cock, and thighs quivering as he tries to remain stable. The lawyer grinds down as the widower grinds up, the two of them quickly becoming synched.

Both of their movements become relentless, hard, and sharp it’s almost painful-sounding.

The widower slams into him over and over again, their chests heaving with a mixture of pleasured screams and rough, gravelly moans mingling together.

A bark of something escapes Virgil’s lips. “Y-You’re getting close, ain’t you?” he asks near the lawyer’s ear, his voice deep and rough and raspy with an intense arousal. “Y-You want me to spill the last of my s-seed in you until you’re a quivering, wh-whimpering mess?”

Dorian throws his head back and keens. His whole body had been in a continuous state of erotica, that oh so familiar twitch of his husband’s cock was intoxicating inside of him.

“C-C’mon, babe,” he growls lowly. A hand slides down and starts to rub his husband’s clitoris. The second he did so, the lawyer started shrieking, his body going down on the widower even faster as he gripped onto him tightly. “G-Give it to me one last time, that’s it~”  
  
With a wail, Dorian feels himself coming hard. A gush of white flow out as he clamps around Virgil, getting juices on his lap and maybe even the leather underneath. He trembles in his husband’s arms as the widower licks his upper-body.

“Mmm, there we go,” he praises while riding him through his release. “Fuck…e-even after so many hours of me ramming into you, you’re still so fucking tight…” He grits his teeth but a groan leaves his lips. “M-M’getting close myself…”

The lawyer lets out a coo as he slowly rolled his hips again, not giving a damn about soreness or oversensitivity. “Come, Virgil~” he gently commands. “Come deep inside of me~”

Another groan hits his ears as the last orgasm rips through the widower. Dorian shudders and emits a blissfully content noise as his husband’s release fills him completely.

Feeling exhaustion finally hit them, they took a minute to properly collect themselves before Virgil lifts the lawyer off his lap with a grunt. It takes him a minute to stand due to the leather sticking to his skin, then he lays his husband down in the chair and cleans up before moving to grab his clothes from across the room.

Dorian pants softly as he reclines back, his pussy gaping as it yearned for the warm girth that was inside it for hours. Hazy, mismatched eyes gaze up at the widower. “I-I don’t think you’ve ever fucked me with that much vigor before,” he pants with a breathless chuckle. “Wh-What was the occasion this time around~?”

Virgil, having already gotten redressed, said nothing for the longest time. Then he lied, “Oh…I couldn’t wait until tonight, so I figured why not visit you now in your office, that’s all.”

The lawyer chuckled again, a little stronger this time. “And my, was it not an exciting visit~” he purred as he began to clean himself up. He finished redoing his pants before looking back up at his husband. “It’s a pity you couldn’t wait until tonight, though. Maybe we can sneak in a quickie before I go to work in the morning.”

Silence again.

“Virgil?”

More silence.

“Hate to say it, Dee,” he says at last. Despite having a rigorous and lengthy sex marathon, his voice was strong, having a sense of finality. “But I’m afraid there won’t be a tomorrow for you.”

A hint of confusion spread across the lawyer’s face. “What do you mean by that?”  
  
Virgil was silent again before he pulled out a small handgun out of his coat’s breast pocket.

He points it directly at his husband’s head.

Dorian looks at him with steely eyes, a contrast to the widower’s slightly soft stare. “And what is the meaning of this, Virgil?” His gaze sharpens as he spoke again.

“You knew too much,” is what he tells him. “You started to piece the puzzle together. One that I want no one to complete.”

“…Sorry, but I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.” The lawyer attempts to lie, sitting up straighter in his seat. His newly gloved hands were clasped together on the desk.

The widower scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Don’t think you can deceive, you damn viper. I know all about that phone call you had with Roman’s brother. Y’know, the one about wanting to get evidence on me so I’ll finally be put on trial?”

Dorian couldn’t stop the hitch in his breath.

A wicked smirk came to Virgil’s face. “That’s right, I wiretapped your phone so that I could listen in on every. Single. Word. Now ain’t it a pity how a lawyer like you can fall into the webbing of a criminal like me and not make it out alive?”

He paused then chuckled.

“I actually cursed myself for this earlier. I should’ve known better than to marry a lawyer that was equally cunning as me…but alas, you tempted me in your own way. You were so sly and manipulative enough to almost make me want to keep you around. Truly a snake from Genesis…however, that just made using you all the more worthwhile…”

Mismatched eyes met silver-grey for the last time.

Virgil’s face contorts into a maniacal expression.

“Case closed. This is how your justice ends.”

_ **BANG!** _

The bullet goes right through Dorian’s skull, the wound hidden behind his slowly reddening blonde hair. Blood started to trickle down the lawyer’s face, neck, and chin. His lifeless eyes stared up at his murderous husband before his body fell forward, red splattering all over the desk.  
  
Gun still pointed at his head, Virgil gently shook the body to make sure that he was truly dead. When Dorian didn’t move, he let out a faint ‘heh,’ before carefully maneuvering him so that the murder weapon was now resting in his hand, making it look like a suicide.

With one last smirk, Virgil turned and began to walk out of the office.

However, before he left, he turned back and started rummaging around Dorian’s belongings. He searched through the file cabinets and drawers until he finally found what he was looking for.

Virgil inspected the contents inside the manila folder before slipping it under his arm. “I’ll be taking this, if you don’t mind.” he tells the lifeless lawyer. He tsk’d. “Just know this, Mr. Cain, with your death, I can still roam this ill-ridden planet a free man; while you can join my other spouses in wherever the hell they currently are.”

Chuckling darkly, the now three-time widower slips out of the office to return to his own.

_**Name:** Dorian Cain  
February 3, 1954 — November, 20, 1980  
**Cause of Death:** <strike>First-Degree Murder</strike> Self-Inflicted Suicide_

* * *

Sickness rose in Patton’s throat. He didn’t look up at Dorian, only continuing to stare down at the newspaper that was slowly crumbling in his still shaking hands. Tears were blotching up his glasses and snot started dripping from his nose.

Dorian gently took the paper from him so he wouldn’t smudge it. He puts that and the flask back where they belonged.

“This will be your fall from Heaven if you do not return to God, little lamb.” He says. “I don’t suggest that you allow yourself to be slaughtered all because you were supposedly struck by one of cupid’s love arrows. Just as the serpent deceived Eve by his craftiness, your mind will be led astray from the simplicity and purity of devotion to Christ.”

2 Corinthians 11:3. Patton remembered the verse from back when he was a little boy going to church with his parents and dear grandmother.

He rubbed his eyes furiously, sniffling a little. “B-But…But I—”

“But _what_, Patton?” Dorian snapped, not understanding why the confectioner remained so hesitant about all that they have told him. “What is it that makes you unable to run away from Virgil?! You’ve been warned— three times, I would like to point you— and yet you still wish to remain here?!”

“I-It’s not that!”

“Oh, it isn’t? Then please, correct me if I seem to be mistaken.”

The confectioner didn’t say anything.

“Surely by now you understand why we have told you about the sins he’s committed?” He now asked in a slightly softer tone. “We have _all_ been seduced by the snake— or spider, in his case— to eat the forbidden fruit.” He ignored the little shiver Patton gave. “We did, and what happened to us? We were banished from Eden and our punishment was death.”

“Dorian…”

He started to count on his fingers. “Roman’s death was being strangulated after nearly drowning in the bath. Logan’s was being poisoned with arsenic from tea and xyr favorite book. And mine was being shot in the head after having sex in this very office. We all _died_ because the man upstairs married us into his lies and then murdered us.” He reminds him. “Not only that, he took the case file I made. That alone says everything; that Virgil is going to do any and everything in his power to make sure he doesn’t get put behind bars.”

“I-I…”

“_Patton_,” the lawyer now looks at him with a sympathetic expression. “The Devil looms over this mansion. In fact, he’s currently in his office as we speak. He walks about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour.” 1 Peter 8. “And when you’re in his sight, he will keep tempting you until you end up just like we did. So why continue to be like Eve— or _Steve_— and listen to him? Why won’t you see the truth behind this…false prophet, if you will, and keep wearing a veil of denial over your eyes?”

A heavy silence lingered. The confectioner refused to look at him still.

Dorian sighs.

“Fine,” he surrenders. “I suppose none of us can persuade you to leave. But know this, little lamb, you _will_ have to make a decision eventually. And when you do, it can either be your salvation, or your own personal ticket into damnation. So watch and pray that you don’t fall into temptation. Be sober, be vigilant. Resist him, steadfast in the faith, knowing that the same sufferings are experienced by your brotherhood in the world.”

Matthew 26:41, then 1 Peter 9.

With those ominous words, Dorian fades away to leave Patton alone with his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys enjoyed this chapter, please leave a comment and/or kudos! And if you wish to read this on Tumblr instead, my username is @asoftervirge!
> 
> **Tomorrow:** Patton finally comes to a decision.


	11. The (Black) Cat’s Out of the (Body) Bag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patton finally comes to a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After all the death and killings and murders, we’re back to having PG chapters! :D Now we come to the final 3 chapters of the story and we get to see what Patton will do (if he does anything) to Virgil. ;) Plus we get a small little introduction to a new character! Oh, and we get some returning characters too. lol Have fun reading everyone! xx Virge

Once Dorian faded away, everything began to hit the confectioner all at once. He tried to comprehend all he was told, but it just proved to be too overwhelming.

Virgil really wasn’t what he seemed.

The paintings in the hallway were destroyed because he wanted to erase their identities.

And the doors are bolted because they were where they were murdered.

Patton felt like crumbling to the floor, yet his legs wouldn’t buckle. So he slumped back against the leather chair he was still in, resting his head against his hands. His baby blue eyes were a whirlpool of emotions.

He was wounded, betrayed, hurt, and every negative emotion he could possibly think of. He fell for the widower’s flattering compliments, his imposing stature, his captivating gaze. He was the fly who unknowingly walked into the spider’s parlor.

When his mind was calm enough to truly process everything, his heart ached for the victims who came before him. _Virgil’s husbands._

Roman Scarlet. A beautiful thespian who dazzled audiences every night with his brilliant acting and singing, until her career was tragically cut short by a single red ribbon around his throat.

Logan Oxford. A clever novelist who wished to spread xyr love and passion for knowledge around the world, but xe were silenced by ingesting arsenic from a book and a cup of tea.

Dorian Cain. A silver-tongued lawyer who’s cunning and sliminess made him be seen as Virgil’s equal, only to be outsmarted by the widower in the end via a lone bullet to the forehead.

And he, Patton Hart? A golden-hearted chocolatier who makes sugary goodies for those who walk into his shop, and if he wasn’t careful, he would soon be meeting the same fate as them.

Slowly, he felt something almost akin to rage slowly seep into his being. It was unfair. Unfair that three remarkable people had to meet their deaths as a result of succumbing to the dark, ill-intended temptations of Virgil.

…Virgil Nyx. A former bookstore clerk who may seem anxious and unassuming, yet he used savvy and manipulation to climb the social ladder; and he continued these methods to lure people into his home, marry them, and then murderer them.

One part of the confectioner wanted to run away. Run away so he and his friends could find away to put the three-time widower in jail and be able to live another day.

However, another part of him wanted to avenge them. Avenge the three— or maybe more— who couldn’t escape before it was too late. He doesn’t want any more horrible injustices to occur under Virgil’s thumb (he could almost hear Dorian chuckling in his ear at that).

“Patton?” a distant-sounding voice called out.

The confectioner froze. _It was Virgil_. He didn’t want the widower to discover where he’s been this entire time. Making sure he wasn’t going to get caught, he quickly left the deceased lawyer’s former office and rushed back to the foyer.

Just as he did so, Virgil exits the tea room.

“Ah, there you are Patton. I was wondering where you went,” he says upon seeing him. He raises an eyebrow upon seeing the slightly disheveled appearance of the confectioner. “Is everything alright? Did something happen while I was gone?”

_How could you ask me that when I know you don’t really care at all?_ Patton thought as he watched Virgil feign concern for him. “I’m fine.” he reassures him, fixing himself up as best he could. “I just—” He needed to come up with a lie, and fast.

“You didn’t go anywhere I told you not to, did you?” Virgil’s eyes sharpened, his tone accusatory.

“N-No, no!” Patton exclaimed, hoping the widower would buy the lie. “I-I just…thought I saw a spider on my way back from the bathroom and it freaked me out…that’s all.”

Virgil blinked, expression unchanging. Then, he chuckled, perhaps a little sheepishly. “Sorry about that,” he tells him as he walks up to him, placing his hands on his arms. The confectioner wanted to flinch and pull away but he didn’t want to raise suspicions. “Sometimes Jezebel likes to get out of her terrarium. Sneaky girl.”

Patton’s eyes widened a little. Well that lie could have been true!

“But I promise she’s pretty harmless,” the widower reassures. “I know you’re an arachnophobe, so just tell me if you see her and I’ll put her back where she won’t hurt you.” He presses a gentle kiss to his forehead. Patton made a face. “You wanna head back to the tea room now? There’re some chocolates left over.”

“Actually, I think I’m gonna head home,” Patton tells him, moving to grab his coat and umbrella hanging from the coat hanger near the door. “I’m starting to not feel very well, so I’m gonna call it a night.”

“You sure?” the widower asked, following close behind. “I’d really like it if you stayed longer. We can continue chatting over those chocolates, I’ll even make you some more hot chocolate. Or I could give you something…a little bit sweeter. I have a rare bottle of Madeira wine that will pair quite nicely with any dessert you make me.”

The confectioner almost shivered at his insistent persuasion. Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t going to fall for it. He faces the widower once more, an innocent expression now on his face.

“I’m positive, Virgil.” he tells him. “But I promise I’ll see you again soon.”

Virgil opened his mouth, wanting to try and encourage him to not leave, but seeing that puppy-dog eyes and cutely pouting lip made him relent. “Oh…very well.” He says, not sounding all too pleased. “Have a good night, Patton.”

“Goodnight.”

With that, he all but rushed out the door. Upon closing the door, Patton took a deep breath and collected himself before he opened his umbrella.

He was going to need his friends’ advice with this one; because, whether it be morally sound or not, the confectioner was going to do everything he could to make sure Roman, Logan, and Dorian were finally able to rest in peace (and that he wouldn’t be joining them).

* * *

Driving to _Storytime_ felt different the second time around.

The first time he did so, Patton was feeling excited; excited about his potential relationship with Virgil, not really wondering if it was anything to be concerned about. But after talking to his friends and cousin, hearing how he started as a bookstore clerk then became one of the wealthiest men in the city, only started to increase his subdued suspicions.

And now? Patton was confused, but determined to do something; knowing the truth about Virgil and all that he’s done in an ex-number of years has changed things. Listening to Roman, Logan, and Dorian talk about their stories brought light to a man that he deemed to be a little untrustworthy in the beginning.

Now he just had to reveal the truth to his friends and hope they would believe him, and give him any advice on what to do next.

Seeing the familiar neon pink sign of the lounge brought a bout of nervousness to the confectioner’s being. He hoped that tonight would go well, because he needed them to understand what had been hidden from them in regards to Roman’s death.

But it wasn’t just for Roman. It was for Logan and Dorian as well, along with any other victims that he wasn’t warned about. Everyone who Virgil scammed, seduced, and destroyed just so he could maintain a squeaky-clean image, everyone who believed in his lies and suffered for it.

Lastly, it was for himself too.

Entering the lounge, it was the exact same as last time: people of all ages, genders, sexualities, and ethnicities coming together to be enthralled with a show. Cigarette smoke thickened the air and the sound of alcohol being poured not only hit the glasses, but his ears as well.

As he made his way over to the bar, his gaze lingered on the photo of Alejandro and Roman, eyes primarily focusing on the late starlet.

Thomas saw him out of the corner of his eye. “It’s good to see you again, Pat— Patton?” he asks, seeing him staring at the photo of his late husband and best friend. “You alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

_I did. Three of them,_ Patton thinks as he slowly turned away from the photograph. He sees his cousin Emile, Remy, and Toby all sitting together, chatting and drinking.

Emile was the next one to notice him. “Hi, Pat— Patty? Why do you look so blue?”

Remy and Toby also looked in his direction.

“I’m fine, really.” he nods. After sitting down, he takes a moment. “…although, I have something to tell you guys, but I don’t know how you’ll react to it.”

“Ooh~! More gossip!” He leaned a little closer to Emile and Patton, ignoring the ‘hey!’ he received from his cousin. “Well go on, Patty-cakes! Give us the details!”

“Please don’t worry, Patton.” Thomas reassures. “Whatever it is you have to tell us, we’ll all be supportive and take it well…at least, I hope we do.”

All of them nod, looking at him expectantly.

“…well, okay…” Patton takes a deep breath. “I-It’s…It’s about Virgil…”

The air suddenly grew thick around them.

“Is it now?” Toby asked.

“What did he do?” Rey grits out. “I swear to fuck if he did anything to you I’ll—”

“No.” Patton states immediately. “It was anything he dd to me…at least…not yet, I hope…”

“Patty? What do you mean by that?” Emile asks worriedly. “You’re kinda scaring me.”

At first, silence. Then, “Virgil did it…he killed Roman. It wasn’t suicide.”

Suddenly, time and everything around them seemed to have stopped.

The confectioner didn’t have the heart to gauge their reactions, keeping his head down.

Emile’s eyes were widened in shock, hands pressed against his mouth.

Remy slammed his shot down hard, eyes glowering with rage under his sunglasses.

Toby stopped drinking faer whisky, hand clutching the glass almost to where it would break.

And Thomas? Poor Thomas, his fist kept clenching and unclenching the rage he held in his hand.

“_What?_” Toby finally growled.

“Oh that motherfucker!” Remy screamed. Thomas quickly shushed him so he wouldn’t cause a scene. He didn’t give a damn though. “Are you fucking shitting me?!”

“How do you know this, Patton?” Thomas asked, trying to maintain a neutral expression.

Patton didn’t know how to explain it. How was he supposed to say that he encountered the ghosts of Virgil’s dead spouses and they explicitly told him all about their deaths? Plus, they all warned him that he could be the next victim if he wasn’t careful!

So, like with Virgil before, he had to lied even if it made him feel gross. “I-I saw things in Virgil’s house that look like they belonged to Roman,” he says. “One of them was a photograph…of all of you in front of _Storytime_. From Valentine’s Day about 7 years ago.” Okay, that was half-truth so he doesn’t feel as gross.

Realization slowly dawned on Toby, Remy, and Thomas.

“Their wedding photo…”

“But that isn’t all,” Patton continues. “I found things that belonged to Virgil’s other spouses.”

None of them could comprehend what the confectioner just told them.

“Wait, _other_ spouses?!”

“Virgil had more than just Roman?”

Patton nodded. “There was Logan Oxford—”

“—The famous novelist?!” Emile exclaimed in shock. “I have some of xyr novels at my house! I’ve told you about xem before, Patty! They said xe killed xemself by drinking laced tea!”

_Laced with arsenic._ “And there was also Dorian Cain—”

“—Prosecutor Dorian Cain?” Toby’s eyes widened. “The infamous Courtroom Serpent? Shit, I remember Roman’s brother going to him to try and prosecute Virgil but he declined to do so. He shot himself in the head about a couple months after.”

_He was shot in the head, but Virgil pulled the trigger._ “From what I saw, Virgil married Logan sometime after Roman died, then he moved on to Dorian after Logan’s death.”

“So, Virgil goes after a celebrity and then marries them; and after a while, he kills them and moves on to another target?” Emile says aloud, trying to piece together everything his cousin had just told to them.

Remy (lightly) slammed a fist down against the bar top. Resting his head against his arm, he mumbled out, “Are you fucking serious right now…?” It was like he couldn’t believe it, and he couldn’t! All of this was too much for him.

Beside him, Toby rubbed his back while Thomas placed a hand on his shoulder. They all were grieving the same way; they grieved before when Roman first passed away, this time, they did so with the truth in their minds. It was like losing their best friend all over again.

Patton sighed. “I just don’t know what to do,” he runs a hand through his curls. “I mean…I want justice to be brought to the victims and have Virgil get the punishment he deserves…but he’s gotten away with so much. And to make matters worse, he’ll deny having any evidence in his possession.”

“Turning him in is the responsible thing to do, Patty.” Emile tells him.

“Uhm, fuck that!” Remy exclaims. “If the fucking police ain’t gonna do shit, you may as well take matters into your own hands!”

Emile looks at his boyfriend in shock. “Are you…” he leans closer to him. “Are you actually suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?!”

“Yep!” Remy downs another shot. “And damn proud of it!”

“Patton,” Emile looks back at his cousin. “You’re not actually contemplating murder, are you?”

“W-Well…”

“Good!” Remy grinned. Toby hummed in agreement. “Give that bastard what he deserves!”

“No! Patton! This is wrong!” Emile exclaims in shock. “This— This isn’t like you! You’re so much better than this, I know you are!”

“I know it too, Emmy!” Patton says. “But I just— I want to be able to avenge them.”

“And you _can_—”

“By murdering him!”

“—By _not_ murdering him.” Emile insists, glaring sharply at Remy. “Bring him to the police.”

“Nope.” Toby shakes faer head, going back to faer whisky. “Ain’t gonna work.”

“Why not?” the therapist glares at his boyfriend’s cousin.

“Emmy,” Remy looks at him, lowering his sunglasses. “If that bastard’s gotten away with three murders— maybe even more— the hell makes you think the police will get his ass, and with almost no evidence to boot?! Who knows, they’re probably working with him or some shit!”

Glaring, Emile turns back to his cousin. “Patty. Let me give you some advice I learned from J.R.R. Tolkien’s _The Lord of the Rings._”

“Ain’t that a fantasy book, Em?” Toby raised a brow at him. “Don’t you like Disney and cartoons and stuff?”

“I do. But Ralph Bakshi made an animated movie about it in 1978, so it counts.” he explains. “Now, Patton, there’s a moment in The Fellowship of the Ring where Gandalf the Grey and Frodo Baggins talk about Gollum. And Frodo says that it was a pity that his Uncle Bilbo didn’t kill the creature. However, the wizard tells him that it was pity that stayed Bilbo’s hand.”

“So you want Patton to _pity_ him?!”

“He says: ‘Pity and mercy: not to strike without need.’ However, Frodo says that he feels no pity for Gollum and that he deserves death—”

“Just like Virgil does!”

“— And Gandalf says: ‘Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life…Do not be too eager to deal out death in judgment. For even the vey wise cannot see all ends.’ Just like with Bilbo’s pity on Gollum, your own pity, will rule the fate of many.”

Remy pinches the bridge of his nose. “Emile, I get what you’re saying, I do! But Virgil doesn’t deserve pity, I don’t fucking care what you say. He’s a serial killer, someone who deserves to die! If Patton does what you say and pities him, who knows if he’s gonna be next, or there will be other victims!”

_And that’s why I’m tempted to do it,_ Patton thinks. _Because I don’t wanna die, and I don’t want there to be other potential victims._

The confectioner interrupts the arguing with a sigh, running a hand through his curls again. “I appreciate your help everyone…but I’m still not sure of what to do.”

Emile and Remy stop and look at him, expecting him to tell them but he doesn’t.

One sighs in defeat while the other huffs in annoyance.

“Y’know,” Toby pulls out a marker from faer pocket. “If you ever come to decision, I know a contact you can possibly use.” He writes on a napkin and hands it to Patton. “I’d highly advice you to be careful though, he’s a…bit of a wildcard. But I have no doubts that he’d help you if you asked him to.”

Patton wanted to ask how he knows this specific contact, but it’s better not to comment on it.

“Thank you, Toby.”

As he gets up to leave, a hand gently grabs his wrist. He discovers that it was Thomas, who looked conflicted yet he tried not to show it on the surface.

“No matter what you end up doing, Patton, we’ll still be here to support you.” he tells him.

Patton nods, smiling gently. “Thank you, Thomas.”

* * *

After talking to his cousin, Toby, Remy, and Thomas about his moral conundrum, Patton felt a little bit better but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t expressing some ickiness about it. What managed to keep making it seem alright, was the fact that he was doing it for justice. That was what mattered to him the most.

He sat on his couch in his apartment, looking blankly at the coffee table. On its surface were books about desserts and baking in the upper right corner, a ‘Thinking of You’ card from Emile sat nearby— a picture of Funshine and Love-A-Lot Bear sticking out of it, the latest positive review of Patty’s Sweet Confectionaries that he had yet to frame, and a child’s note drawn in big bubbly and colorful lettering.

Staring right back at him though, were the items that belonged to, or mentioned, Virgil’s husbands.

The newspaper headline stating Dorian’s “suicide.”

Logan’s posthumously released novel.

A programme of Roman’s last performance at the lounge.

Carefully, with gentle fingers, he traced over certain parts of each, gaze slowly morphing into one of sadness and heartbreak.

Emboldened words of “**DORIAN CAIN**,” “**FOUND IN OFFICE**,” and “**GUN IN HAND.**”

Dedicated words written for Virgil.

Roman’s beautifully illustrated face.

Patton did his best to shove away the stab in his gut. Even though they all had their faults— deceitful, abrasive, and promiscuous— none of them deserved to die they way they did.

It only added fuel to the already burning ember inside of him. He wanted to avenge them in the best way he can; a way that will allow them all to be redeemed for the price they had to pay.

A sudden bark pulled him from his thoughts.

He looked down and saw his puppy, a chocolate labrador, pawing at his legs, almost like he was trying to comfort his master. Patton smiled— small and shaky— as he ran his hand across their dark brown fur. The scratches brought comfort and satisfaction to them both, Patton the former and the puppy the latter.

“Oh…sorry, Chocolate,” he says softly. “You’re probably hungry, aren’t you? I know I’d go barking if I didn’t have food in my belly too.” Oddly, the pun felt weird on his tongue, and that was definitely a first for him.

He got up, almost sluggishly, taking the assorted items with him, and walked into the kitchen. He stood on his tippy-toes and reached in the cupboard, pulling out some homemade dog treats for his puppy. He loved making them for the dogs he occasionally walks and pet sits.

With Chocolate munching away on a couple treats, his attention turned back to the newspaper, novel, and programme. He would be taking a serious risk if he decided to go along his path, but he would have to fight fire with fire.

Suddenly, he remembered the contact that Toby gave him.

Making his way to the phone, he pulled the napkin out of his pocket, the phone number given to him shined in dark green ink. Inhaling and exhaling slowly, he picked up the phone and dialed it.

“Hello…?” he says as soon as it stops ringing on the other side. “Is this Remus Verde?…Oh, you go by Remus Duke now, I’m sorry! Hmm?…Uhm…M-My name is Patton Hart, I got your number from Toby Hallows. I run a shop called Patty’s Sweet Confectionaries, but that isn’t the reason why I called you.”

Patton took another deep inhale, follow by a deep exhale.

Then, he said, “How would you feel about helping me avenge your brother’s murder?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys enjoyed this chapter, please leave a comment and/or kudos! And if you wish to read this on Tumblr instead, my username is @asoftervirge!
> 
> **Tomorrow:** Patton gets help from Remus.


	12. Revenge, Like Chocolate, Can Be Both Bitter and Sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patton meets with Remus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are! We’re now at the second to last chapter! Despite the low reception of this fic, I’m very happy with it and it’s been so much fun posting it and seeing everyone’s reactions to it.
> 
> Since Remus will be in this chapter, here are the bits that only he are involved with. If you are triggered by any of these, **please do not read this chapter!**:  
\- Satanic symbolism (his clothing)  
\- Ted Bundy/serial killer reference  
\- carrying poison  
\- Swearing  
\- referencing Smut  
\- referencing various methods of murder & violence  
\- describing murder  
\- dumpster Diving  
\- Eating/Eating Gross Food
> 
> Happy All Hallow’s Eve, everyone! Have fun reading! xx Virge
> 
> Also, some of Remus' dialogue was inspired by impatentpending's "Intrusive Thot," which you can read on [Tumblr](https://impatentpending.tumblr.com/post/186962619795/intrusive-thot) or [here on AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20219725)!

To say Patton was nervous was an extreme understatement.

He was pacing back and forth in an alleyway— the location where Remus wanted to meet— going between fiddling with the hem of his sweater, and twirling a stray curl of hair. Blue eyes frantically scanned the dingy place he was in, not wanting to suddenly be jumped by a dangerous stranger.

Brick walls were stained with something the confectioner didn’t want to know what. Droplets of water from the gutters above dropped down onto the cobblestone. Garbage cans were tipped over, rotting food and other things made the air smell putrid.

A black cat scurried from behind one and past his feet, meowing loudly.

Patton squeaked and flinched as it went by. After collecting himself, he started to fidget more.

He hoped Remus would be here soon. With every minute he was in this alley, he was growing more and more frightened.

Despite this, he tells himself that this is worth it.

For Roman.

For Logan.

For Dorian.

For himself.

In the midst of his self-panic and self-reassurances, Patton didn’t catch the sounds of the metal fence behind him being scaled upon.

“So, _you’re_ Patton Hart, hmm?” A high-pitched, slightly screechy voice said.

Patton yelped and spun around, instantly being greeting with the sight of Remus.

The man looked completely different from Roman, it was almost hard to believe that they were brothers, let alone twins. While the former thespian was composed, elegant, and beautiful, Remus…was anything but.

He looked like a rebellious punk, to put it simply.

Remus’ hair was oily-looking, very unkempt and scrappy; dark brown, almost black in color with touches of green hair dye in it and a single streak of silver. He was clad in a leather biker vest, various patches decorating it, and a fishnet shirt underneath which displayed all of his bruises, cuts, and scabs. His pants almost reminded him of Virgil’s jeans: ripped yet his were baggy as opposed to tight-fitting. His ankle boots were spiked, decorated with an upside down cross and a symbol that looked to be very satanic.

As a matter of fact, all of his jewelry appeared to be just that: skulls and satanic symbols. They were predominantly pieces that littered his neck, but he was also studded with a lot of piercings: a labret plus a lip, multiple ear and eyebrow ones, a chained nose, and a belly button. And all of them were silver as opposed to the gold Roman used to wear.

Looking at him twice over, Remus seemed to be a combination of Roman, Remy, and Toby.

Patton quickly straightened himself up, not wanting the other man to see just how scared he was.

“And you must be Remus Duke,” he responded back. His voice shook a little as he spoke. “I have to say, and I hope you don’t think me rude, but you looking nothing like your brother.”

Remus snorts. “That’s a compliment.” He tells him. “I’d rather not be a goody-goody Abel like my brother was.” He looked Patton up and down, giving him a quirked expression, “Ain’t you a bit saccharine to get help from me? Shouldn’t you be getting ready for beddy-bye time?”

“No!” Patton yells stubbornly. He recoils and tries again. “I-I mean, no. I really, really need your help, Remus. This is the only way I can truly stop Virgil.”

“Ha ha! So you’re _also_ Virgil’s newest boy toy!” Remus grinned manically. Patton squealed and shivered in disgust at that. “I swear he goes through boy toys faster than either Ted Bundy or Jeffrey Dahmer did with their victims. Well, not _as fast_, but—”

“C-Cut it out!” Patton shrieked, stomping his foot in childish anger. He grew sickened at the thought of a monstrous killer like Bundy or a twisted cannibal like Dahmer, and comparing Virgil to them just made it worse.

(It was in that moment when the confectioner remembered the words Dorian told him before he divulged into how he was murdered. While Virgil was a horrible individual, he was nothing like how those men were. They were all criminals, yes, but the widower was somehow of a lesser evil.)

Trying to relax his shoulders, Patton asked again. “Are you going to help me or not?”

Still grinning, Remus jumped off the fence and onto the cobblestone. It wasn’t pleasant sounding as he fell flat on his ass. But he appeared to be okay as he shot straight into the air and began fishing through his pockets, humming _Touch-a , Touch-a, Touch-a Touch Me_ under his breath while he searched.

“Ha ha!” he exclaimed when he finally found what it was he was looking for. He pulled out a vial of sinister-looking liquid, skull and crossbones marked on the front of it.

Poison.

Cyanide, to be more specific.

“This should be the very thing that’ll fuck Virgy-poo up!” Remus exclaimed happily. Then he pouted. “Lucky bastard,” he mumbled. “Just put this in whatever it is you’re gonna give him and watch with glee as he chokes and dies! Ooh, that sounds fun! Can I come and watch too?!”

“No!”

Remus pouted more, actually looking sad.

Patton was about to walk over and grab the vial but Remus stopped him.

“Not so fast, Mr. Fluffy Butthole.” Patton scrunched his nose. A serious look was in Remus’s emerald green eyes. “Why do I have the stinky feeling this is for more than just my brother?”

The confectioner reeled back. “…What?”

“You wouldn’t have gotten my number from Toby and call me by saying ‘how would you feel about helping me avenge your brother’ without wanting to do more.” Remus narrowed his gaze. “You wanna avenge Virgil’s other husbands too, don’t you? Spouses or whatever they were.”

Patton opened his mouth to try and say something, but all he could do was sigh and nod. “You’re right,” he finally tells him. “It’s for more than just your brother. It’s also for Virgil’s second spouse, Logan Oxford—”

“That author who seemed so stubborn xe had a stick up xyr butt? Man, xe needed to get laid.”

“…xe were asexual…”

“…_Emotionally_ laid, then.”

“You mean having a loving, supportive relationship?”

Remus gagged. “Don’t be lewd!”

“Xe were also aromantic.”

“I could’ve helped with that!” Remus grinned. “But if xe were also asexual, then it would’ve been no dice. Hehe, dick ice, hehe!”

Patton ignored him and continued on from before. “— and his third, Dorian Cain—”

“Ah! The serpent-y lawyer whose tongue was for more than lying!” Remus grinned more. Since he was a little closer to him, Patton could see the yellow of his teeth. “I’ve heard that he and Virgil were a lot alike. Plus, they were really able to get” – he wriggled his hips – “it” – he started thrusting “on!”

The confectioner blinked, then sighed deeply and tiredly. How exactly was he Roman’s twin brother? (He could practically hear Roman sighing along with him).

“I was in cahoots with him, you know!” Remus tells him, still thrusting for some silly reason.

“So I’ve heard,” Patton tells him, not wanting to delve into details about the supernatural encounters he had. He didn’t need to give this guy the time of day. “They said you called him about wanting him to find evidence on Virgil, but he said no.”

“Yep!” Remus stopped mid-thrust and emphasized on the p. “He accused me of wanting to slander a celebrity, like everybody else did. But it was also because he didn’t want to put his own husband on trial or some other bullshit.”

He blinked then continued thrusting. “I wonder what would’ve happened if I got to him first?” he mumbled to himself in curiosity. He turned to Patton with a grin. “You think Virgil is great in bed? I would’ve given that lawyer the time of his life! We would’ve fuck for days and weeks on end using all the neat kinky toys I have! Plus, all the crazy flexible sex positions?!” He bobbed his head from side-to-side, singing. “Anyone Virgil could do, I could do better~!”

_Apparently, Virgil did that and then some,_ Patton couldn’t help but think to himself, suddenly being reminded of how explicit Virgil and Dorian were. (If the lawyer were here, he’d probably be flattered and chuckle in his ear).

“But it’s more than them too!” the confectioner exclaims, continuing on from where he left off previously. “It’s for any other potential victim of Virgil’s…and me too…”

“Oh?!” This intrigued Remus as he now had Patton’s full attention. “How so?” He could see the confectioner tugging and fiddling with his sweater. Remus actually saw him doing this when he was stalking the alleyway. It must be a grounding mechanism for him or something, kind of like how he plays with his fingers.

“Because—because I’m scared of dying.”

Remus blinked. “You are?”

“Yes— Of course, I am!” Patton didn’t know why the other man was acting like dying isn’t something to be feared. Because, to him, especially in this circumstance, it was. “If I don’t do anything to stop Virgil, I’m scared I’m gonna die. And I don’t wanna die.”

Tears came to his eyes, he rubbed them away with a fist.

“I don’t want to end up like the others. I don’t want a ribbon around my neck, or arsenic in my belly, or a bullet in my head. I don’t want to have my life cut short by someone who might actually want me dead!”

Now he had both fists rubbing harshly at his cheeks. “There’s so much of my life I want to live. There was so much of _their lives_ that they had yet to live. And I want to be able to avenge that…I want my friends, and even _you_, to be at ease knowing they finally found peace.”

Remus watched awkwardly as Patton cried in front of him. He wasn’t all that good with the emotional, cutesy, kind-wordsy stuff like his brother was. But if Roman was in this situation, he would know what to do better than anyone else.

He knew the moments when his brother would need a hug, and this would be one of them.

So, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Patton, letting him sob into his shoulder.

Patton curled further into him, not caring that he smelled of body odor and garlic.

“Hey, hey,” he murmured. “It’s okay. It’ll all be a-okay.”

The confectioner sniffled. “How do you know that?” he asked, voice thick with emotion.

“Because that mean, nasty Virgil’s gonna get what’s coming to him!” Remus tells him. He takes Patton’s tear-stained glasses and licked them clean. He then walked over to a garbage can and fished out a dirty napkin to wipe them with. “Here you go!”

Patton grimaced as he put his… ‘newly cleaned’ glasses back on.

“Even if Roman didn’t like me all that much, he was one of my favorite people,” Remus continues. “And I was incredibly upset when he was killed, or ‘committed suicide,’ as the police suspected.” He narrowed his eyes. “I wanted to bring Virgil to court, I really did, but there was no evidence left at the crime scene.”

Remus snarled; fists clenched together tightly. “When they told me that…I was thinking of contemplating murder myself.” He shook his head. “There were so many things I wanted to do to him.” He began counting on his fingers, “Disembowel him, let my pet rats feed on his body, flood my teeth with his spine, build a sandcastle out of his ashes. You name it, I wanted to do it.”

Patton got visibly sickened with each possible method of murder and violence.

“And yet I couldn’t do anything. I may be a wildcard, but Virgil is much more cunning. He’s slipperier than a bar of prison soap.” Patton dared not ask what he meant by that. “Plus, he might’ve expected that I would come and destroy him when I got the chance. So, there wasn’t anything I could do.”

“But you tried though,” the confectioner says. “Despite there not being evidence, you still went and contacted Dorian Cain to try and see what would happen.”

Remus nodded. “Well, yeah. I figured I might as well eat the bullet and chew until I’m forced to spit it out. And so, I called Dorian’s law firm and asked anyway. Even though I was told ‘no,’ something deep within my dick told me that he might try and do something in secret. When I saw in the papers that he had also killed himself, I thought my chances were ruined for good.”

“However,” he then held out the vial of poison for Patton to take. He could see just how dirty his fingers were: bruised, chewed-up fingernails, chipped black and green nail polish, and grime around the cuticles. “_You_ can be the one to finish him off. Do what me and Dorian couldn’t, and put that murdering piece of shit in the ground where he belongs.”

At first, Patton seemed hesitant about taking it from him, but after everything he’s witnessed, everything he’s heard, everything he’s feared, his resolve was hardened.

He takes the vial and stuffs it in his pocket.

Standing closer to Remus, he can see the details he couldn’t see from afar: flakes of dandruff in his hair; messy, purple, smoky eyeshadow; black lipstick that was slightly smeared; a little bit of stubble growing above his lip; along with any other cuts, bruises, and scabs on his skin.

Not only that, he could see the various patches on his biker vest; only a small handful of them were satanic and anarchist symbols, while the rest were a mixture of things Remus must enjoy. A green sword with tentacles coming from it, a Morningstar, an anatomical heart, a bloodshot eyeball, a skeleton, a peach, a couple octopi and krakens, an alien, a peach, a hazardous symbol, some that involve cursing and parental advisory, some dark Disney ones, an opossum with he/him pronouns, the aromantic flag, and lastly, one that has ‘Duke’ on it in graffiti.

Despite his appearance, Patton might consider this gross man…not so much a friend, but an ally.

“…Remus?” Said man leans in closer, making Patton bend back. “…Thank you. Truly. I wouldn’t have been able to do any of this without your help.”

He waved nonchalantly. “Eh, don’t worry about it,” he tells him. He walks over to one of the garbage cans and starts rummaging through it once more. “It’s the least I can do. Being an assistant— heh, _ass_-istant— is better than being forced to sit back and do nothing.” He pulls out a rotting banana, unpeeling it and then taking a bit bite out of it.

Patton looked like he was going to throw up.

Mid-chew, he looked back at the confectioner. “You know,” he mumbled, browning banana flying out of his mouth. “For someone who looks all pure and morally righteous, you gotta little bit of grey in ya.”

“I’m only doing this for good.”

“Maybe,” Remus gulps loudly then takes another huge bite. “But you’re still planning on killing him. No matter how you justify it, redrum is redrum.”

“Redrum?”

“Murder. _The Shining._ Stephen King.”

Patton hummed.

“Seriously though, who am I to talk morals schmorals to you? Good and bad is all made up nonsense!” Another loud gulp, another big bite. “So! When are you gonna do the do?”

“You mean do the deed?”

“Same thing!”

“Tomorrow.”

“Ooh! On Halloween night too!” Remus grinned excitedly. Patton had honestly forgotten that it would be Halloween, having been so preoccupied with everything has was going on at 613 Rue Morgue. “Are you _suuure_ I can’t come with you?”

“I’m sure, Remus. Thank you.”

Remus pouts again, but he quickly shrugged it off.

“Ah well,” he drops the banana peel at his feet. Litter bug. He started to scale up the fence, allowing Patton to see the large green kraken that covered his back. “I guess I’ll leave the rest to you. Good luck, Patton!”

With a gleeful wave, Remus jumps over and disappears into the shadows from whence he came.

Patton stays in his spot for the longest time.

Maybe…he was a bit grayer than he realized. Through his entire life, he was never really challenged on his morals. He always played by the rules and laws of life, not wanting to face the punishments for having done something wrong.

But now, he was.

He was faced with someone who had a complete disregard for them and is walking a free man with three murders (maybe even more) stained on his hands.

And here he was, wanting to change all of that.

Like he said to Remus, it was for a good cause: to have their spirits be appeased and to have Virgil never commit any heinous crimes ever again. Even if the solution was a permanent one.

Maybe…the other man was right. Maybe…good and bad really is made up nonsense.

With the thoughts of his newly-placed morals in his head, Patton finally left the alleyway.

The alleyway that Remus chose was in the lower part of town, the shadier and troublemaking part to be specific. And even though Patton could have chosen to take his car, he walked since he lived close by in the lower regions of downtown.

It was a long but much needed walk for the confectioner to take.

While the air proved to be chilly, the autumn leaves dropped down onto the ground, creating a little ombre of colors on the sidewalk. The night sky was a trifecta of rich purples, deep blues, and cool blacks. Dots of white twinkled above, making the picturesque scene complete.

Patton looked around at all the holiday decorations that were on display. All of the ghosts, witches, scarecrows, and grim reapers all gave him a bit of a fright. The fake tombstones and giant rope spider webs made him squeak and turn his head for a split second. But he smiled at seeing the differently carved jack-o-lanterns— some more intricate than others— and the outdoor lights that glowed in various colors, like orange, purple, green, blue, red, white, and black. Though what really got a giggle out of him, were the inflatables that stood on each lawn; some were of pumpkins, others were black cats, and was the occasional spooky tree.

Many people love going all out on Halloween, and the confectioner was one of them, having spent so many hours throughout September and October transforming the interior of his shop.

He continued walking into downtown, fog hovering over the street lamps as the air grew a little denser and colder. The streets were slightly bustling as people were walking to and from various stores, all in last-minute preparation for tomorrow night. Many of them were families, with children bouncing up and down excitedly about their costumes while the parents held bags that were presumably filled with candy and other goodies.

It all made Patton smile, for he had that same childish whimsy.

The confectioner didn’t stop walking until he came to a very familiar brown building, the words _Patty’s Sweet Confectionaries_ swirled in fancy but readable font on the window.

Patton took a minute to gently trace his fingers across the white lettering. He still remembers the first day he opened its doors, a young and bright-eyed man who simply wanted to spread the sugary joy that his grandmother used to give him.

With a deep breath, he walked into his confectionery shop, the jingle of the bell above the door made his heart swell up a little. Once inside, he gazed around, nostalgia and melancholy shone in his eyes as he flipped on the lights.

Golden chandeliers glowed from the cream-colored ceiling as the shop became illuminated, presenting the changes that Patton had made. The only other things that remained the same were the dark brown and white tile, and the wooden stands and tables dressed with dishes and bowls, but what filled them had changed since September.

Eyeball-shaped white chocolate truffles, and ghostly popcorn balls were now the specialty treats for the holiday; along with cookies in the shape of skeletons, and white chocolate bark with candy corn. In the display case were still the traditional chocolates, but there were also pumpkin spiced cakes and cupcakes, along with macaroons of varying monstrous design and Frankenstein cereal treats.

However, the two favorites were front and center: gooey marshmallow, and glistening candy apples. The best part about them? The marshmallow is dyed in accordance to the holiday, and the candy apples were also coated with white icing to make it look like Snow White’s poisoned one from the Disney movie.

Walking in further, he plugged in the decorative lights that hung from the walls. The miniature pumpkin luminary bags added another layer of festive spirit to the store, and they paired nicely with the cutout garlands Patton had made some-years back.

The confectioner tenses up as he feels vial of poison roll into his hands from inside his pocket.

A part of him still feels conflicted about doing something like this.

Obviously he knows what Virgil did was horrible and wrong, but on the other hand, he wished there was a much simpler way to see his downfall come to fruition. But as Remy and Toby said, if the police were working with him, then it was impossible to see lawful justice be served to him. (Dorian tried it, and look what happened.)

So this was the only option he had left.

Resolve slowly hardening, Patton made his way to the kitchen to begin work.

He began pulling out giant mixing bowls— both silver and copper, measuring cups, double boilers, spoons and forks, and a plethora of ingredients in order to create the perfect box of poisonous chocolates.

Patton didn’t need to think about which ones he would give to the widower, he knew the recipes for each one by memory.

The first recipe read:  
_“1 lb of dark chocolate  
16 maraschino cherries with the stem  
3 tablespoons softened butter  
3 tablespoons light corn syrup  
2 cups sifted confectioners’ sugar”_

Parts of the second read:  
_“2/3 cups dark chocolate chips  
1/3 cup + 2 tablespoons of heavy cream  
A dash of cinnamon”_

The third read:  
_“7 oz. finely chopped dark chocolate  
1/3 cup espresso  
½ tablespoons unsalted butter  
½ cup unsweetened cocoa powder”_

And finally, the fourth read:  
_“1 cup melted cocoa butter  
1 tablespoon cocoa powder  
3 tablespoon dark chocolate  
½ teaspoon almond extract”_

Within each recipe, he made sure to add the cyanide poisoning into the mixtures, adding a bit more than necessary so that it wouldn’t be masked by any of the other ingredients. (He wore protective gear, of course. The same mask and gloves he wore whenever he dabbled in making anything featuring liquid nitrogen.)

Hours later, he had batches cooling on racks and baking sheets. And after checking that he had a perfect set of thirty-two, he began the decorating process. Glazes, icings, and sugars scattered about in the air and dusted his face, hair, and fingers.

Once everything was done up all nice and pretty, Patton placed them all in a box: a black one topped with a bow of dark violet ribbon.

Patton stood back and observed his craftsmanship. A deep frown slowly made its way to his face.

The first part of the deed was done…

…now? It was time for Virgil to have a taste of his own chocolatey medicine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys enjoyed this chapter, please leave a comment and/or kudos! And if you wish to read this on Tumblr instead, my username is @asoftervirge!
> 
> **Tomorrow:** The demise of Virgil?


	13. To Quote the Six Merry Murdresses of the Cook County Jail, “He Had it Coming.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patton creates Virgil’s demise...?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are guys! The final chapter of Of “Love” & Murder! I just want to give a quick thank you to everyone who read, liked, reblogged, left kudos, messaged, and commented me about this fic. It was an absolute joy to write and I’m really glad that everyone enjoyed it.
> 
> For one last time, please be careful of the content warnings at the top of the fic and take care of yourself should you proceed onwards.
> 
> Happy Halloween, everyone! Have fun reading! xx Virge

Twenty-four hours later, it was Halloween night.

Tonight, was the night Patton was going to seal Virgil's fate.

The drive to 613 Rue Morgue was familiar. Of course it was familiar, and yet...it was so _unfamiliar_ at the same time.

He knows where he's going— he's been going there for months— but his emotions have changed greatly.

At first, he was bubbling in excitement. His infatuation with Virgil had clouded most of his judgement. The chocolates he had with him were hand-crafted and tied with love.

Slowly, those drives grew weary-filled and cautious; curiosity fueling him to keep going back.

Now, he feels somber, guilty that he's chosen to end things like this. But he also feels persevering, moral justice guiding him with a firm hand.

His resolve didn't waver as he drives up the cobblestone path and is greeted with the sight of the beautiful manor. Nor does it when he gets out of his car, tugs his coat and scarf closer to his body, grabs the chocolates, and walks up the stairs and to the door.

Patton knocks on it firmly, repeatedly. Not like soft, rhythmic pattern from before.

He waits. Nothing.

He tries again. Still nothing.

He tries a third time. Again, nothing.

Frowning, Patton attempts to open the door and is surprised to realize that it was opened the entire time.

Walking in, he makes his ways to the tea room, and sees Virgil waiting for him. However, he was shocked to see the change in demeanor coming from the widower.

He was sitting at the table, dressed in something completely different from the signature outfit he always seemed to wear. No longer was it a purple turtleneck, but a black button up; the cuffs were undone and the confectioner could see a sliver of his pale chest as the top buttons were undone. And no longer were there leather pants and boots, but tight, black skinny jeans and dress shoes.

Even his makeup was done too: eyes dusted in black eyeshadow, cheeks sharpened with contour, and lips painted in a purplish-black.

Despite was he was going to do to him, Patton couldn't help but see him as strikingly handsome.

Bracing himself, he makes his way over to the table, sitting opposite of the soon-to-be-dead widower. When he sits, he notices Virgil wasn't facing him, but his body was turned so it was facing the wall. An arm was rested on his lap, while the other was on the table.

His eyes appeared to be darker than normal, almost hollow.

Eerie silence surrounded them, the only sounds heard was the ticking of a clock.

It all made Patton nervous.

He opened his mouth to speak, but Virgil cuts him off.

"How long have you known?" was the question he was asked. Patton was surprised by the tone; it wasn't sharp and accusing. It almost seemed..._dull and resigned_? What was going on?

"W-What?" he responds softly, reeling back a little.

Virgil doesn't sigh, he doesn't glower, he just repeats the question again. "How long have you known?”

Was...Was Virgil being accepting of his possible fate? Does he know what Patton is going to do? None of this makes any sense.

But right now, he can't think about that. All he can do is answer Virgil's question.

"Since the beginning of the month.”

A hum. He rubs his fist together. "I suppose you wanted ask questions?”

Why?, was what he wanted to ask first, but he knew better than to jump the gun. "Your name...isn't really 'Virgil Nyx,' is it?”

A soft snort. That was the first question he asks? "It is," he tells him honestly. "It's not my birth name though. My birth name is Japanese, but I changed it before I went into high school. Virgil after the poet in Dante's Inferno and Nyx after the Greek Goddess of the Night.”

"And that name because…?"

"Wanted something dark and edgy." he shrugged simply.

"You originally worked at a bookstore?”

Virgil stilled, but he didn't tense up. He relaxed. "Yeah. Worked at _Antique's Bookstore_ in the lower part of town," he snorted louder. "Fucking hated that place.”

Patton disagreed. It sounded like a cute little store, but he digresses. He inhales slowly, "Is that where you got the idea of killing people?”

That, was what made Virgil tense. He clenched and unclenched his fist. "My first kill was some fancy white guy I met on the streets when I was 18," he tells him, not exactly answering his question. A slightly angry look came to his face. “Kinda cute, but holy fuck was he a bastard. Kept going on and on about wanting a submissive partner and someone who he could parade around like a trophy.”

Patton scrunched his nose. “And you married him?”

“Yep.” Virgil nodded. “Even if he was an asshole, I realized that I could be taken care of with the money he left behind for me. So, I did what I had to do: be a submissive, decorative arm piece.”

"How did you kill him?”

"Bludgeoned him." he say. "Crowbar. I got what I wanted out of him— money, proper stability— so I didn't need him anymore. So, I grabbed one from his car and started beating him with it. Honestly? It didn't hit me until after I stopped and I saw all that red on the floor. At first I felt so sick to my stomach I wanted to pass out...but I didn't. Something that I've never felt before sparked inside me: the desire to kill. And thus, Virgil Nyx, wealthy serial killer, was born.”

"Is he where you got this manor from?”

"No. This manor came from another husband. One that I killed by pushing him down the stairs while he was having a mopey, drunken fit.”

Patton willed himself to not feel the chill that went through his spine. Maybe Virgil was more heartless than he realized. He sets the box of chocolates on the table; if you weren't none the wiser, you couldn't tell the contents inside were laced.

Virgil eyes them for a moment. A faint twitch of the lips. "Am I suppose to be expecting a trick or a treat?”

_A trick masked as a treat._ "It's a treat, I promise." he actually tells him.

The widower kept eyeing them for another moment before opening the box. It was the exact same box of 32 that he had the first time he kissed Patton: cherry cordials, chocolate squares, clusters with almonds, squares filled with cinnamon-infused ganache, other truffles infused with ganache, rounds made with coffee, and chocolate hearts.

He took a chocolate square and popped it into his mouth. He hums at the taste; they're still wonderful even after months of eating Patton's sugary treats. "Do you wish to interrogate me still?”

Patton nods. "How did you hide the evidence for Roman's murder?”

"I took the ribbon I used to choke him and threw it away. The ribbon binding his hands later became the one that was wrapped around his neck." He now popped a cherry cordial in his mouth.

“Logan's?"

"Dumped the tea, put the book back in the box and burned it. I also hid whatever arsenic I had in the medicine cabinet so they wouldn't find it during investigation." A square with cinnamon-infused ganache.

"You killed Dorian with a gun. How did you hide the prints?”

"I wore gloves when I killed him." A coffee round.

"And me?" he dared to ask. "How would you have hid evidence for my death?”

Virgil paused. A chuckle, "Probably get rid of the box like you're about to do." A chocolate heart.

Patton paled a little. Did he realized that he poisoned him?

Virgil slowly turned towards the confectioner. "What did you lace these with?" he asked in a surprisingly soft voice.

Silence. “Cyanide."

Virgil chuckled again. "It kills pretty quickly, depending on the dosage." His chuckles slowly cease and he has a sad smile on his face. "I suppose I had it coming to me.”

Patton looked down at his lap. He squeezed his fists together, bunching up some of his sweater.

How was Virgil so accepting about his death? Did he always know it would be coming eventually?

"...Do you regret it?" he asks with a soft whisper. "Killing them?”

His sad smile only grew. "I don't know," he shrugged. "Maybe I do, but only for the fact that I couldn't know what it was like to have an actual life with them.”

"What do you mean? Like if you weren't a murderer?”

"Yeah," Virgil nods. "Maybe the last three of my marriages would've been happy…"

From his chest, he pulls out a hidden necklace. All of his wedding rings.

"Roman was beautiful, gorgeous even." He holds a golden ring that had a ruby gem in center, two smaller amethyst gems decorate the sides. "I was very fond of her singing. It was all over the house, no matter what time of day it was. We also bonded over our love of Disney and I even took him to Disney World for our anniversary before her death. She was more than a diva on the stage, he was a very passionate and romantic person, albeit a little stubborn. I think if I hadn’t killed her, he would’ve been a great husband/wife for me…we would’ve been happy together.”

Then he holds a sleek, silver ring. Very simple like the novelist. “Logan was kinda like a rock for me. Whenever I had bad anxiety, he would instantly calm me down with his grounding words. Sometimes no words were necessary between us, only eye contact and specific gestures. He was a presence that I secretly miss. One of the most intelligent people I knew. Heh, our debates were quite the spectacle let me tell you. He wasn’t the marrying type, I’ll be honest with you…but I think L and I would’ve been great partners, or even friends.”

Finally, he pulls out a bronze-like ring that resembles a snake. “Dorian was very sharp and cunning. He had a tongue that was more scathing than mine, and that is saying a lot. We may have gotten married after six months of being friends-with-benefits, but he had his own unique way of caring. He was quite the reptile lover, adored having snakes around, which was different for me liking spiders.” Patton freaked a little, Virgil payed it no mind. “Even though everyone said it, he truly was my equal in a way…and I think I would’ve been happy with him too.”

Patton listened as Virgil listened the positive qualities of each of his late husbands. “What— What about me…?”

Virgil looked at him. “Hmm?”

“What about me,” he repeats, looking at him with a mixture of curiosity and worry. “…Would we have been happy?”

Virgil blinked, then a small smile. He reaches over the table and grabs Patton hand. The confectioner doesn’t have the heart to pull away. “I think we could’ve. I could imagine you baking a whole bunch of sweets for me to try, be it breakfast or dessert. You would be telling me puns to the point where’d I want to put _myself_ in the ground. I can even see you begging me to go to a pet store and buying you a cat or something.”

The sad thing about hearing that? Is that Patton could’ve seen all of that too, and then some. (Even the cat thing despite him being incredibly allergic.)

Patton looked down at their held hands. “…_Why?_” He finally asks. “Why did you kill them? You said you could’ve been happy with them, but in the end…you ended their lives.”

“Money,” he says. “And I know that sounds so dumb, but it’s true. I wanted more money. That’s why, when I got married, I immediately said for them to put me as the sole inheritor of their fortunes. I was selfish. Selfish and wanting to stay on top. I didn’t want to be lower-class anymore, I became who I am for a reason and I didn’t want that to change.”

At that moment, Virgil started coughing. He coughed loudly, violently. doubling over almost like he was in pain.

Patton’s first reaction was to see if he was okay, but then he remembered.

_He_ did this.

_He_ was the one who wanted to kill Virgil and now he was doing it.

He didn’t have the right to check on him.

So, he just stayed in his seat, watching as the widower started gasping like he was running out of breath; stumble forward a little like he was going to collapse; and hold his head like it was about to split open.

“Are you scared?” the confectioner asked in a strangely calm voice. “Of dying?”

Once the coughing ceased, Virgil weakly looked up at him. Patton could literally see death shining in them.

With the last of his breath, the widower rasps out, “The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?”

Then, he collapses forward, body convulsing for about three minutes or less, before he finally stops.

The grandfather clock goes off.

And Virgil Nyx, is no more.

** _Name:_ ** _ Virgil Nyx  
_ _December ??, 19?? - October 31, 19??  
_ ** _Cause of Death:_ ** _ Cyanide Poisoning_

Patton couldn’t help but stare at Virgil’s lifeless body as it was slumped on the table.

Now he gets what Logan meant about having your husband watch as you seize in front of them without doing anything.

It’s a horrifying thing to watch. And yet…he didn’t feel all that disturbed, which horrifies him the most.

He was in a trance-like state, so much so he didn’t even flinch at the front door slamming open.

“_Yodel-Ay-Hee-Hoo!!_” Remus. “Patton?! Are you here?! The door was open so I just walked inside without being invited, because I just love doing that!…Patton?!…Seriously, where are you?!”

Remus wanders around the house a bit until he finally finds him in the tea room.

“Ah! There you are! I was wondering about—” he stops when he sees Virgil’s body. “Oh, wow…_cool!_ Can I play with it?!”

Somehow that snapped Patton out of it. “No!” he glared firmly at Remus.

Remus pouted, stomping his foot like a child. “You’re serious such a poopy-head! Let me have fun with the dead body!”

“No, Remus.” Patton sighed. He takes the box of chocolates and leaves for a moment.

When he comes back, lo and behold, Remus was poking at Virgil’s corpse.

“Remus, _please_.”

“Seriously, Patton?!” Remus huffs out an angry-sounding sigh. “I love shit like this!” He moves closer to Virgil’s pale face, examining it. “How can a corpse have better eyeshadow than me?!” He actually looked sad. “I need to step up my game…”

Patton ignores his mumbling as he replaces the chocolate box with a replica; it was the exact same color and everything, but it didn’t have the logo of Patton’s store.

It was a nice detail for him to not get caught.

A weird feeling started forming in Patton’s stomach. Maybe Virgil rubbed off on him in more ways than one.

“Remus?” The man looks up from looking into the dead widower’s lifeless eyes. “The manor is yours.”

Remus’ mouth opened. Bugs could’ve flied out of it. “Wait. Really?” he asks. “Why?”

“I don’t want anything to do it anymore.” He tells him. “Besides, I figured you may want to have an eerie-filled house like this.” He gives Remus a tiny smile. “Not only that, I’d figured you’d like to see your brother’s room.”

A breath hitch. Emerald green eyes shined with tears. “My brother’s room?” he whispered. The confectioner nodded. “Wh-Where is it?”

“It’s upstairs, down the hall from Virgil’s room. It’s a cherry door with a golden lion doorknob.”

“Heh…he would have something like that.” He gives him a wet smile. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Patton smiled back. “By the way, are you crying?”

Remus looked appalled. “What? No, I’m not.” He grossly wiped snot onto his arm. “I-I just smelled my oniony breath! That’s all!”

“Sure, Remus. Whatever you say.” Patton smiles. He begins to gather up his things. “So, what’re you gonna do with this place?”

“Hmmm?” Remus spun around. His eyes sharpening like he was actually thinking. “Maybe get rid of all the purple. Purple’s a gross color now. Ooh! I’ll make it a pukey green color! And add more tentacles, this place needs more tentacles.”

“That sounds nice.” It actually didn’t, but he didn’t want to be mean to him. “Good luck with everything, Remus. And…thanks again for your help.”

“You’re welcome, Patton!” Before the confectioner leaves, he asks one more question. “Can I _please_ make a sandcastle out of his ashes?”

“Hmm…nope.”

Remus sighed defeatedly. “I figured I’d try again.”

Patton couldn’t help but laugh. Even if he was gross and slightly disturbing, Roman’s brother was alright.

And that, he walked out of the manor— never to look back— got into his car, and drove home, knowing that Roman, Logan, and Dorian were now resting in peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys enjoyed this chapter, please leave a comment and/or kudos! And if you wish to read this on Tumblr instead, my username is @asoftervirge!
> 
> **Sunday:** An anniversary piece for _A Royal Miracle_


End file.
